Mark of Montague
by Luckylily
Summary: She gave a slight cry as her hands skimmed over her hips. She glanced down, for the first time noticing the fresh bruises there. Bruises in the shape of finger prints. His finger prints. His marks. Had she left any on him?
1. Prologue

A/N I don't own any of the characters, they all belong to J.K.Rowling unless otherwise specified at the beginning of each chapter.

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It had been years since Voldemort had been resurrected, but nothing had changed. He was still out their, still had followers, still persecuted others that weren't like himself.

Six years ago he had returned, and still he swatted away each attempt the ministry made to capture him like they were irritating flies, not worth the effort of squashing.

The Dark Lord he was in both name and style. He kept court, surrounded himself with his followers. His court was unpottable, untraceable, and heavily warded. If one found out and sought to tell another, they were dead before the words of betrayal could pass their lips. They could not write it. They could not speak it. They could not capture the memory of his court and place it in a penseive.

Spies were everywhere, for both the Death Eaters and the Ministry, everyone was suspect, and no one could be trusted. Friends of years, of centuries could no longer be trusted. For each witch or wizard that died with the dark mark, another five rose to take their place.

Those that deserted, or denied their connections to the Dark Lord went back to the fold. Where they were either welcomed or punished.

The court had a style that was more fitting for a king than a Lord. Full of whore's courtesans, mistresses, some that were explicit property, and others that belonged to nobody and were passed around and used by everybody. There was often entertainment to be had, muggle baiting, auror torture, duels and hexes that were passed out to encourage 'friendly' competition.

Voldemort was no fool. He knew that they had to be able to work together, and a divide down the middle of his death eaters was no good. But the point of the games was top keep them guessing, for them to find out who was the strongest amongst them. It was also rather entertaining at times to watch them squabble, and if it annoyed it, there was always an 'enlightening' way to deal with that.  
  
Life had changed, revolved around bloodshed, death, and war. A shadow of what it was. Unrecognisable now when compared to lives before his second uprising.

The light side fought on, Dumbledore, Potter, Granger, Weasley, Lupin, and others so numerous that they could not all be named. Lessons taught by Professor Moody of 'constant vigilance' were now used more than ever.

Marriages between people that had known each others for weeks, months rarely longer than that. Minutes snatched by loved ones in between battles. Short notes and love letters flew around the world with familles hoping that they would arrive at their destination. The numbers of widows continued to rise. Everyone knew someone that had been lost to which ever cause they happened to be fighting for. Their was an increase in children with single parents, young babies that had been conceived in the midst of a one night stand, where people were desperate to feel something other than guilt and remorse.

Both sides still fought with a ferocity unmatched. Determined that they should claim victory. The war dragged on.

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Interested? Should I continue? The next chapter is pretty much finished, the sooner you let me know what you think, the sooner it's up!


	2. Chapter 1

A/N: Ok here's the first chapter....

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The dark haired young man, with an air of mystery and an edge of danger sauntered in the room, not bothering to pay attention, or show any surprise at the objects, or the person in the room. But while he appeared unconcerned, if you looked closely, you could see his eyes scan the room, searching for anything that was not right, or out of place. He seated himself in one of the brown leather chairs without waiting for an invite.

His black shoes were spotlessly clean, his pressed robes were unbuttoned, revealing a dark green turtleneck jumper and black trousers of the highest quality designer make. A few strands of dark hair fell across his forehead, but it was his eyes that caught you.

Deep blue eyes, the colour of sapphire that drew you in, made you feel as if you could drown in them and you didn't care, as long as those eyes were the last thing that you saw.

But even the beauty of his eyes did not wipe out the disturbance you felt as you gazed in to them. Blank, empty, indifferent most of the time. Ice cold and calm with a wicked glint when he was angry or sneering at the other houses back in Hogwarts.

Did his eyes turn a bluey-black that matched the starry night when he was happy? Did they become bottomless pools of onyx with desire? Who knew? No- one. No-one had seen him feel anything but hatred or annoyance, they weren't allowed too. To them his eyes were soul-less.

It might have been a good thing, especially in his situation. That vacant look as he talked to you. No-one ever knew what was going on inside his head, never knew what he was feeling unless he wanted them to know, it had worked to his advantage on more than one occasion. But people were ever wary of him, he was unpredictable, unreasonable once he had his mind set on something, complete with a reckless streak when pushed to far.

He lounged back in the chair, and stretched his legs out before him.

"Dumbledore." He smirked, his eyes cold. "Pleasure to see you again." He drawled out, his tone implying that it was anything but.

Dumbledore looked over his half moon spectacles at the young man sitting before him. At twenty-four Alexander Montague was an imposing man, fairly tall with a toned physic, a nose still straight despite his years of quidditch, and a vast fortune. He was often featured in various magazines as one of the top bachelors, despite his rumoured connections to the Dark Lord, Voldemort himself.

Except that those rumours weren't rumours, but fact.

"Lemon drop?" Dumbledore offered, Montague raised his eyebrows, looking coolly at his former headmaster, and the dish of sweets was retracted and placed back down at the desk, but not before Dumbledore had taken one for himself.

"You have news?" Dumbledore asked, his eyes now serious as he faced the young deatheater.

"Would I be here if I didn't?"

Dumbledore ignored Montagues insolence, he might well be twenty-four, but some things never changed and Montages sarcastic tongue was one of them. He sighed inwardly feeling his age. Montague might as well be sixteen instead of twenty-four with his attitude. But it was his defence mechanism. Pushing people away, hurting them before they had a chance to hurt him. The things that he had seen, been a part of had taken their toll over the years.

"There's an attack planned on a quidditch game."

"Do you know which one?" Questioned Dumbledore.

"Well...they were wondering about the Falmouth Falcons v's Holyhead Harpies but it would be a damn shame if they decided to crash that game, so I suggested the Wimbourne Wasps v's Pride of Portree."

"You asked them to consider another quidditch game?" Dumbledore asked in disbelief.

"I know, I know quite imprudent, but the Falcons have come a long way since last season, and they have an actual shot at beating those bloody Harpies now their missing several of their players."

Dumbledore sighed at Montague's flippant answer. "Any other developments?"

"Malfoy's being a pain in the ass ever since the Abbots, and is still boasting about it, it was a month ago for God's sake!" Montague said with something akin to annoyance. "Oh, and Brenda's dead." He added nonchalantly.

"Brenda's dead? What happened?" Dumbledore murmured, as if to himself.

"Flint. But then if the stupid bint is silly enough to fuck with him what does she expect?"

Dumbledore's expression hardened. "She is your fifth courtesan this year!"

"I know..." Montague mused. "I thing I'm getting something of a reputation." His tone light and airy.

"Now is not the times for jokes Alexander." Dumbledore boomed, expression one of suppressed fury.

"I know that!" Montague snapped back, annoyed at the use of his name and Dumbledore's tone. "Its not my fault the silly little twit meddled in things that she shouldn't have and got caught! This is becoming a joke! I will be on my sixth whore! And each has died suspiciously!

You want more information? Well, sending in spies to act as 'courtesans' as you put it, and having them get caught is not doing anything for me to get closer the inner circle! Do you know how many times I've had to catch myself from hexing Malfoy from beyond recognition because of his crowing and bleating? He's fucking well two years younger than me! And his father got caught! Its ridiculous!"

"We need to get another spy in." Dumbledore told him firmly. "And since your partners-"

"No. Not my partners. Never my partners." Montague cut in flatly.

"Call them what you want, we need to get someone in, they might well learn something that you missed because she will be able to interact with the other females-"

"Frigid bitches is more like it." Montague muttered. He raised his voice, "Do you really think that these are death eaters foolish enough to spill Voldemorts plans as idle pillow talk?

Those that are, aren't privy to the details. The whores go in, they get fucked, and they go away again." He said speaking crudely. "Who are you going to try and foist off on me now? Weasley? Do you have any idea how Voldemort would act if I turned up with the girl his sixteen year old self seduced?

There is no way I am getting caught up in that scandal. Do you have any idea how bad he would be if she kicked him out of her bed for being mean to the defenceless muggles or trying to kill Potter? I really don't want to see that- well actually I do, it just might be detrimental to my health. Anyway, she connected to you, to the Order, to Potter and his sidekicks.

_No more_. I pick the girl. But she has nothing to do with the Order, I'll blackmail her or something. The desperation would be a good look for her, and it would make me look good, y'know toying with her and all."

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair, removing his elbows from the desk where they had rested, hands pressed together and holding up his head as he stared at Montague.

"We need to get someone else in."

"No." Montague refused flatly. "Brenda almost blew my cover. I pick the girl, and as far as she knows she's being blackmailed for the lives of her family and friends for my twisted pleasure."

"You cannot use someone like that. It is cruel. It is wrong. You of all people know what they would be forced to do, what they would see, what they would be a part of. It is not acceptable-"

"It is war." Montague cut in strongly. His voice harsh and clear as he leant forward daring Dumbledore to disagree. "One person, one person that might be sacrificed, that might be used. One person can make all the difference. She could be the person to make or break me as a spy. Sometimes sacrifices have to be made.  
Yes, it might be wrong. Yes, it might be cruel. But it is necessary."

Dumbledore studied him intently before closing his eyes for several seconds. His voice was weary as he spoke, weighed down by decision, responsibility and guilt. "A week. You have a week to find the girl that you plan to use."

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A/N: Yes Montague does seem a git, I think your either going to like him and continue reading and hate him and go away! Thankyou elektra12 and Ashliegh for your reviews!


	3. Chapter 2

A/N: As usual I don't own Montague, Angelina or anyone else from J.K.Rowlings books, all other characters are mine. Thankyou to _elektra12_ and _Ashliegh _once again for their reviews. Here's the next chapter, so enjoy.

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The music of the club boomed out from various points on the dance floor. Music that was deep and heavy with bass, music that was fresh and breezy. It called out to those at the club, the sound waves entering their bodies from every angle imaginable.

Up through their toes, in through their ears it buried deep inside their hearts and bodies, demanding that release, that control that allowed them to break free. _Dance, Dance!_ The music cried and they did.

Bodies gyrated against each other as they packed tightly onto the dance floor. Hands were run through hair, hips were shaken and lips were licked. The lights flickered all around them as the crowd partied the night away.

Each with their different goals. Some to pull, others to get laid, most to get as drunk as possible, and others that were out with friends looking for a good time, a way to cut loose.

Couples co-habitated corners, in a drink induced state. But did it matter? They wouldn't be able to remember what had happened in the morning, and if they couldn't remember, who's to say that anything happened?

The smell of alcohol, smoke, perfume and sweat clung to their bodies and the club.

"You having a good time Kat?" Angelina Johnson asked her younger stepsister.

"Yeah!" She shouted back, grinding her body against that of her partner.

"Good." Closing her eyes, Angelina let the music's beat thrum its way through her body.

"Angie! We're going to get a drink, coming?" Charlotte called.

"Yeah, let me grab Kat a sec." Angelina turned back to her nineteen year old sister, and tapped her on the shoulder. Making a drinking motion with her hands Kat followed her along with an apologetic look at her partner.

Weaving their way through the crowd, the group of girls made their way to the bar. "What's everyone having?" Charlotte called out.

"WKD please."

"Vodka and coke thanks."

"Whisky thanks."

"Red Bull and vodka please."

"House special cheers."

"WKD please mate."

"Angelina?" Charlotte questioned. "WKD?"

She shook her head, the sweet taste of her last drink still at the back of her throat. 'Not anything sweet.' She thought. Anything else sweet and she'd be sick. "Uh...snake bite please Charlie."

"Sure thing. You guys wanna go grab those seats over there?" Charlie motioned, pointing over at the seats in the corner as the previous occupants made their way to the dance floor.

"Yeah. You guys go on, we'll bring the drinks over." Angelina encouraged, a smile on her face.

"Here take these." Charlie told her, handing her several of the drinks.

"You gonna be alright with the rest?" Angelina checked.

"Fine, I'll be right behind you. Really, I don't know what's got into you these last few years Angelina. The girl I remember was so care free! I mean its great to have you back after these last few years, but you seem so different. Always looking over your back, always needing to know where everyone else is. I'm beginning to think that someone's after you." Charlie lowered her voice as they sat down, distributing the drinks amongst their friends.  
"I know that you and Fred had a horrible break-up, but, he's not...y'know causing any problems for you is he?"

"No. No nothing like that. I haven't see Fred for a year at least now. It's...oh, I don't know..." She sighed and trailed off. "I just have this feeling that something big is gonna happen soon, and I don't know if that's a good thing or a bad thing..."

"Come on Angie! You need to get out of this little rut you've got yourself stuck in."

"Hey! I happen to like my rut thankyou very much!"

"Angie. You haven't dated since you and Fred broke up. Look I know that things between the two of you were painful at the end, but you haven't dated anyone since him. You can't let him wreck your life, he's already caused you enough pain as it is, stop punishing yourself. Its not your fault, you just got a bad one."

"But it still feel's like my fault." Angelina confided, taking a sip of her drink. "I feel that I should have noticed, I should have paid more attention. Eight months! Eight! You'd think that he'd have made one slip- up, I'd have noticed something. If I hadn't turned up and hour early because I'd finished that assignment...I trusted him. I really did. We'd been friends for years before we started dating. And now...I can't even think of school without thinking of our group, he's even wrecked my memories of our friendship.  
And if he's supposed to be one of the good guys, what does that say about the rest of the males in this world?"

"What can I say? Maybe you'll get lucky and find a diamond in the rough."

"Come on guys cheer-up, this is my birthday party! Be happy! Get those painful sober looks off your face right this minute Miss Angelina and Miss Charlotte!" Kat teased interrupting their heart to heart. "We're going to dance again coming?" She asked, her voice slightly exuberant from the amount of alcohol she'd been drinking.

"Of course!" Angelina answered, forcing a smile on her face and then downing the last of her drink.

"Angie-"

"Don't worry Char, come on, lets have fun and dance the night away now. Kat's right, its her birthday. We can talk later."

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Montague grimaced, it was the kind of muggle place that he hated. Loud music and even louder people. They were vile, uncouth, and with no breeding whatsoever, despite their so called 'inventions.'

It was a Saturday night. If he didn't find the right girl tonight he was done for. There was a rumour that Kathryn Bell was going to be here tonight, but as of yet, no show. He'd been watching her for as few days, and if he didn't find anyone better, well, it looked like she was the lucky girl he was going to blackmail.

She had ties to the muggle world, her Uncle was a squib, and she had a few friends in the muggle world, although it would be better if she had stronger connections, he was certain that her inner gryffindor, sense of guilt, feelings of responsibility whatever you want to call it would win the day and she would give in.

He stuck to the shadows, observing, watching, stalking the crowd looking for her. He ignored the lustful glances from the females and the odd male, ignored the glares and death looks from anyone else who happened to be looking on his direction.

His eyes scanned the crowd, zooming in on someone who looked so familiar.

"Angie! Char! Come on!"

Johnson! Bloody hell! His eyes travelled the length of her body, taking in the black leather skirt that hugged her hips and ass as it fell to just above her knees, a slit either side which went half way up her thigh. An emerald green top showed part of her mid-rift as she danced, with pair of studded black sandals completed the outfit.

Montague watched as she placed her glass on the table and caught up with the younger girl. Hell, Johnson certainly didn't look like she did back in Hogwarts. The spell he had cast earlier showed him that she was with a group of muggles. Odd considering that she was the only witch among them.

"Darren! You came!" Squealed the young girl that had called out to Johnson earlier. "Angelina, I want you to meet Darren, a good friend of mine. Darren this is Angelina, my step-sister."

He watched as they made with the pleasantries, and a smirk making its way to his face as he reflected on the younger sisters words. Johnson had a sister did she? A muggle sister? Younger by the looks of things. Interesting. Very interesting.

She'd fight him, fight him all the way. Yes, she'd take a long time to break, far longer than Bell. Johnson was always unpredictable, and she had that unfortunate incident with Weasley in her past that would be fun to torment her with. It would be like old times again, Slytherin versus Gryffindor, two captains, two chasers that faced each other and forgot the rest.

Yes, Johnson was definitely the girl.

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"Where's Kat gone?" Angelina inquired as she sat down, "She was here just a second ago."

"Went to confront that guy about why he was staring at you. Don't ask me why, I think she just wanted the chance to speak to him, but she did say something about a weird glint in his eye." Char swivelled around in her seat. "Over there." She pointed.

Angelina sucked in a sharp breathe, her eyes widening slightly.

"Angie, what is it?" Char asked anxiously noticing her friends tense posture and the look on her face.

"Shit. Shit shit shit shit shit, fuck!" Angelina cursed. "What the fuck is he doing here?"

"What? What is it? That's not Weasley is it? If it is..." She stood up about to march towards the stranger.

Angelina grabbed her arm, yanking her back down into her seat. "No that's not Weasley. It's Montague."

"Montague? That's the Montague? Jeez Angie, in all you rants about him you forgot to mention one very important detail."

"What's that?" Angelina asked standing up.

"That he is fine. Damn girl, did you not notice that at all?"

"Yeah, but kind hard to remember when he's knocking you unconscious. Stay here." Angelina dragged her eyes away from her sister and Montague long enough to glance to Char. "Please stay here, don't go anywhere near him. He's dangerous."

"You know, from all your run-ins with him, I picked up on a lot of tension between the two of you, I'm beginning to believe that it was sexual tension..." Char mentioned.

Angelina snorted, "That's it no more drink for you tonight. Stay here Char."

Angelina moved off, weaving in and out of the crowd, heading towards her sister and old enemy. What was Kat thinking? Why would she go up and confront him? What if Montague had tried something? If Montague had touched her in any way...

Her eyes hardened as she felt blood course through her body, the slight pang of excitement and anticipation that came from facing off with Montague. Her heart pounded in her chest as she saw her sister lean invitingly towards Montague, a coy teasing smile on her face. What the hell was she doing?! You didn't play with someone like Montague as numerous girls had found out before.

"Kat!" She called out sharply as she reached the couple. "We're going now! Come on." Her eyes glanced at Montague and then returned to her sister.

"Don't be silly Angie!" She giggled, patronisingly she added, "We're not getting picked up until half two." The smile on her face was fake, it was her eyes that gave it away, eyes that were sending daggers her way for interrupting.

"Johnson, long time no see." He cocked his head to the side, studying her. "You've cut your hair."

"Really? Didn't think you paid that much attention to my appearance Montague." She remarked snidely, un-nerved at the way his eyes had raked up and down her body, making her feel naked.

"What can I say, it was so nice to pull during our matches."

"Montague?" Kat asked incredulously. "This is Montague?" But she was ignored as Angelina and Montague stood staring at each other, waiting for the other to back-down first. Kat wrinkled her nose in thought, "Wasn't Montague the one that knocked you unconscious during one of those matches that you like?"

"Yes," Angelina answered stiffly. Why does everyone keep bringing that up? She groaned internally. "Kat we're going now." Her tone leaving no room for argument, but her eyes remained on Montague. "You don't want to be associating with his sort."

"Jealous Johnson?" Montague teased.

"You wish." Angelina replied acidly.

"I'm wounded, truly." "Not yet but I'm sure something can be arranged."

"Oh harsh, such a sharp tongue you got there Johnson, but I'm sure I could put it to far better use than insults."

"Don't bet on it."

The music on the dance floor changed from a harsh, energetic and vibrating beat to a slower softer tune. Those on the dance floor grabbed however was closet, wrapping them in an embrace and swaying to the music.

"Dance with me Johnson." Montague commanded, holding out his hand. Throwing her slightly at his abrupt change of subjects.

"Bite me!" She snarled back at him.

"I know there are hidden depths to you Gryffindor's, but really Johnson, in public? But hey, whatever floats your boat, I can adjust to a varied sex life if your into the bondage side of things. It'll keep me on my toes. We could do role-playing as well if your interested. You could be the innocent muggle and I'll be the evil death eater." His eyes slid over to her sister, enforcing his point. The younger girl was staring at Angelina with a fascination, as if seeing her sister for the first time, her mouth hanging slightly.

"Might want to close that, unless its an open invitation for people to stick whatever they want in there." He smirked, barely paying attention to the younger girls mouth snapping shut and the flush that covered her skin. Instead he was looking at Johnson, watching as her hands were clenching and unclenching at her side, her eyes were like ice, her jaw set and body tense.

Yes, she would be a challenge.

"You're a sick bastard Montague, talking to my sister like that, re- enactments of muggle torture." She spat, her voice full of venom.

"Then why are you still here?" He questioned.

"Don't worry, we're leaving now, surprised you'd be in a muggle night club, after all according to your Lord aren't muggles a filthy waste of humanity, never knowing what you might catch from them?"

"You said it. Trying to tell me something about you're sister Johnson, after all she does seem very accommodating..."

"How dare you?"

"Oh, very easily." She raised her hand, intent on bringing it down across his face, he caught it, but barely and her nails raked across his cheek drawing blood.

His eyes flashed furiously as his hand tightened around her wrist, his other arm shooting out and wrapping around the back of her neck in a vice like grip, restricting her from looking anywhere but at him. He pulled he against him, so her entire body was pressed against his. She shivered slightly as she felt his warm breath against her cheek.  
  
"Blood play Johnson? I really am surprised."

"Angie! Oh my god! Let her go!" Char exclaimed, having made her way over from where she'd been told to sit. "Kat are you ok? What the hell do you think you're doing to her?"

Charlotte's cries were ignored by Montague and Angelina, only a soft gasp of pain was emitted from Angelina's mouth as she tried to turn to face Charlotte, Montague's grip squeezing tighter around her neck, bright spots dancing in front of her eyes that had nothing to do with the alcohol or flashing lights.

Montague released his grip on her marginally, leaning in even further, rubbing his cheek against Angelina's. "I could kill them in an instant." He whispered to her.

"You're surrounded by a room full of muggles. You'd never get away with it, numerous witnesses."

"Ah, but hysteria does odd things to the mind does it not? Causes panic, people rationalise what they want to believe when they can't cope with the truth. Not to mention most have been under the influence of drink, their statements wouldn't count, they wouldn't believe it, and they would forget it had ever happened by morning."

"You wouldn't touch them." She whispered, a small trace of doubt in her voice even as she tried to reassure herself.

"Don't test me. Send them away, _now_. Or we'll find out just how nasty I can get."

"Char, take Kat and the other's home, I'll call you tomorrow morning." Angelina croaked, her throat constricted with fear at the danger her friend and sister were in.

"Angie-" Char tried to argue.

"Please." Angelina pleaded. "I know what I'm doing."

Montague snickered, but Charlotte must have caught the desperation in her voice as she grabbed Kat by the arm. "Call me tomorrow, if I've heard nothing by eight I'll call the police. I'll be up all night if you need me."

"Thanks." Angelina said softly as she licked her lips in anxiety.

"There's a good girl." Montague whispered in her ear.

They stood like that for several minute's as Montague watched her friends leave. Seeing them exit the club he drew back slightly, his lips brushing over Angelina's as he looked into her eyes. He gave a short humourless laugh as she sucked in a sharp breath.

"Lets dance." His hand slipped from her wrist, and intertwined with her fingers as he turned her around, his other hand trailing across her throat before going back to its previous position at the back of her neck, his thumb running back and forth across the skin there, showing it as a gesture of affection to anyone who happened to be looking.

He manoeuvred them across to the dance floor, guiding them into the middle of the floor. "Well, this simply won't do." He commented, releasing her fingers carefully. "One move Johnson and the whole place goes up in flames." He let her hand go, and drew out his want, with a flick of his wrist all action around them was halted. From the barmaid pouring drinks, to the people on the dance-floor, the DJ in his booth and the couple groping in the corner.

Everything moving was paused, the lights, even the drink in the bottles and taps, everything except them.

Angelina whirled around to face Montague, but before she could say anything Montague had pulled her roughly against him. "I know, fantastic spell, but Johnson, really..." he tsked at her mockingly, "You could have caused the death of some muggle. A change of music maybe? Ah, I know just the thing..." With another flick of his wrist the music changed, become a more distant background hum and the lights dimmed, casting them more or less into darkness.

Pocketing his wand, Montague pulled Angelina's arms up around his neck, one of his hands snaking down around her wrist, pulling her firmly against him, while his other hand pressed her head down onto his shoulder before playing with a few strands of her hair.

He swayed them gently to the beat of the music, relishing the way her body curved against his. It had been a long time since he'd had a women, at least one that he really wanted. The other whores, there had never been any passion about them, they were cool, submissive, never fighting for dominance, never showing any really passion that was not faked. The only really passion they showed for him was his prospects, his money. What he represented, not him himself.

Yes, Johnson hated him, but there was passion in her hate, something that went beyond what most people felt for him.

Angelina shifted her head slightly, finding a more comfortable position than that Montague had chosen.

"What do you want?" Angelina inquired softly.

What did he want? Montague thought. Turning the words over in his mind, contemplating them. "You." He answered simply. Because that is what he wanted isn't it? Her. To use her, to have her, to get at those around her.

"Why? Why me? Why do this?"

There was no answer initially, and Angelina began to think that he was not going to answer her, she raised her head off of his shoulder, only to have it pushed back down into its previous position.

"Why? Revenge."

"Against who? Me? What have I done?"

"It has nothing to do with you. Your just a means to an end, so don't flatter yourself Johnson. Who? You don't need to know, so you won't. This little deal of ours is going to be on a need to know only basis."

"What deal? I haven't agreed to anything!" Angelina struggled, trying to pull back, a renewed sense of fight streaming back into her heart and body. His grip around her tightened, squeezing the air out of her lungs, forcing her to still.

"I think the question is Johnson, just how far are you willing to go..." he nipped lightly at her ear, "to keep those muggles of yours alive?" He planted a kiss on her throat, dragging his lips and teeth over the skinh, grazing it gently until he reached her pulse point, running his tongue over the skin, Montague smirked as felt her shift in his arms slightly and her heartbeat quicken.

"You're a smart girl, I think that can gather where I'm going with this, say 'yes,' and those you love stay alive, say 'no' and they die. It's entirely up to you, you can buy their lives with your body, go against me in this Johnson and you will regret it." His voice was deceptively smooth, but there was a hint of warning under the silky tone.

"Do they live or die?"

"They live." Angelina whispered numbly. "I knew you'd see things my way." He claimed her lips in a possessive manner, with a bruising force before releasing her. Pulling out his wand once again, Montague murmured "Morsmordre" before grabbing Angelina around the waist and apparating them away.

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A/N: Is it what you expected? Good? Bad?


	4. Chapter 3

A/N: Ok, a big thankyou once again to my reviewers!

WriterLady1031- Thankyou for your review and I'm really glad that you like it so far!

Cupiditatis - Thanks for pointing out that whole reviewing thing, didn't realise until you said anything.

Ashliegh - I'm glad that you liked the previous chapter, and I'm pleased that you picked up on Kat's reaction to A/M's little spat as this will probably come into play in a later chapter, maybe fourth or fifth. I'm glad that you approve of the way that Montague was going for Katie first before Angelina, it was a last minute thought and it went in on the last draft, I wasn't to sure about it. Thanks for you review!

elektra12 - Really glad that your buying the blackmail motives, etc as this means that the story so far is realistic and working well, thankyou for your reviews!

Chapter Three:

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The night had been unlike anything she had ever experienced before. Her sexual experience was limited, and that was putting it nicely, a few serious boyfriends before Fred and that summer fling a couple of years back was it.

She'd felt embarrassed, uncomfortable and inexperienced as he teased her. He'd revealed in her discomfort, in her awkwardness. He'd known, and used it to his advantage. He was gently with her, that much was true, he'd taken it slowly with her, that once again was true. But she couldn't help but feel embarrassed by the differences between them. You could tell from the predatory gleam in his eyes that he knew his way around a women.

He was a talented lover, by far better than any of her other boyfriends. Not even Fred, who she had thought at one point to be the love of her life. Montague was different. With Fred it had been a nervous bumbling affair of inexperienced lovers. With Montague there was none of that. He'd drawn it out, making her body blaze with desire, the blood crash through her veins. He'd made her want him, want a release that only he could provide. And he'd taken delight in her inner torment. The betrayal she felt by wanting him.

If it had been a cold hard fuck no doubt she'd remember it. But this way he'd seared the memory into her mind. Made her feel shame for not only selling her body, but sobbing, pleading, begging for release.

She'd seen the Dark Mark on his arm. The stark black ink on the white alabaster skin. She'd had a hard time tearing her eyes away from it. Mesmerised by the contrast of black and white, her attention captured by what the mark stood for. He laughed at her interest and disgust of the mark. He'd made her touch it, run her fingers over the slightly raised skin, graze her fingertips along the outline, kiss it, Worship the dark mark, Voldemort who was at the present graciously allowing her family to live.

He'd gone soon after it was over, the black mark on his arm burning and becoming a vivid red colour. A summoning.

A flick of his wand and he was clothed again.

"Make sure you're not here when I get back." He told her, his voice devoid of any emotion. He hadn't even looked at her, he'd been more interested in putting his watch on.

A sharp popping noise and Montague had apparated away.

Not bothering to pay any more attention to her. Not waiting to see her reaction, nor if she had anything else to say.

Angelina was still for a minute, not moving from the bed where she was sitting, the covers pulled up over her chest from where she had sat as she watched Montague dress and leave.

Pulling her knee's up against her body, she rubbed her hands against her face, trying to compose herself, taking deep breaths she tried in vain not to break down in tears.

What was she doing?

What was she thinking?

Did she really think that he could be any different?

That what he had done wouldn't affect him as it had her?  
  
Of course it wouldn't. He was a slytherin. A death eater.

Regaining her composure, Angelina stood stiffly and wrapped the sheet around her body, as she picked up her items of clothing that had been scattered around the room, she quickly pulled on her underwear, followed by her skirt and top. She tossed the sheet onto the bed and pulled on her sandals.

Picking up her bag, she rummaged through it, and pulled out her phone. She looked down at the screen, and noticed that the battery was flat. She tossed it back into the bag, pulled out her wand and zipped her bag up.

Standing up she Angelina glanced around the room. The large bed dominated it, the dark wood with it's carved decorations, black sheets and bed hangings. The walls were lacking any personal decoration, in fact, apart from the bed and a matching dresser, wardrobe and chest of drawers, the room was completely bare. There wasn't even a mirror on the dresser, nor any small ornaments or accessories. The walls were a plain white, a stark contrast to the dark wood of the bed, or the black of the sheets.

Ironic wasn't it? That the room represented Montague. Devoid of any feelings, the furniture represented what he had, wealth, houses, manor's, prospects, but lacking all else.

Glancing at her watch, Angelina noticed that it was gone three in the morning and yawned. Emotionally and physically tired. She could apparate home, and get in a few hours of sleep before she called Charlotte, but no doubt Char would be over first thing in the morning, wanting to know what had happened.

Char had said she be up all night in case she needed her didn't she? Yes, Angelina was pretty sure that she had said that. Well, then...the best thing would be for her to visit Char now, to tell her that everything was fine, and that she'd speak to her again in the afternoon, after she had had a good few hours sleep, and a chance to recover. To prepare herself for the spanish inquisition that was Charlotte and her sister.

The bed covers were in disarray, and some of Montague's clothes were scattered about the room. A sudden urge ran through Angelina in typical Gryffindor style of tidying the room, but she quickly abandoned the scheme, wondering what the hell she was thinking. She owed him nothing. Did he think that she would clean everything up and disappear and he'd never have to think of her again?

No, he should remember. Remember what he had blackmailed her into doing. Remember the shame, the pain he had caused her. He should remember his threats and what he had said to her. He should remember it and regret it. No, she would leave the room as it was, leave him to think that she cared nothing for what he had done to her.

But if she acted as if she didn't care, would that imply that it didn't bother her? Would he think that she was used to sleeping with random people? Would she seem easy? Why was she even worrying about what he would think of her? He had blackmailed her. Why should she give a flying fuck what he thought? Bastard! Screw him! Might find a diamond in the rough? What the hell was Char thinking? Fuck him! Fuck Fred Weasley! Fuck all men!  
  
With a snap of her wrist Angelina apparate away.

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Char glanced up at the clock on the mantle. Twenty-five minutes past three. She'd long since changed out of what she had been wearing earlier that night and was now in an old baggy tee-shirt that had belonged to a previous boyfriend.

She gave a visible start as she heard the doorbell ring, her heart hammering in her chest. Funny she hadn't heard any cars. Taking deep breathes to try and calm herself down, Char got up and cautiously made her way out into the hallway and down to the front door. Peering through the spyglass to see who it was, she gave a cry in relief at seeing Angelina outside on her doorstep.

Hurriedly pulling the door open she ushered her best friend inside, closing the door and re-locking it once again.

"Angie! My god your all right! You are all right aren't you? I'd never forgive myself if you weren't!"

"I'm fine Char. Just thought I'd drop in and see you before I went home. Didn't want you to spend the whole night up worried waiting for eight o'clock. This way you can see for yourself." Angelina told her, her voice sounding hollow, and the words fake even to her own ears.

But Char was too happy to see her friends safe than pick up on anything that seemed unusual. "I'm just happy your safe. His eyes were scary Angie, chilling. What the hell were you thinking going off with him like that, you could have been seriously hurt, or in danger, or god knows what with a guy like that!  
But you are ok aren't you? He didn't lay a finger on you? Didn't do anything to hurt you? What happened? Where did you go? Kat tried calling you on your mobile but there was no answer. What did he want? Why would he want anything to do with you? I mean you were enemies for years. What-"

Angelina having had enough of the questions held up her hand for Char to stop. "I'm tired, I want a shower, and I want to go to sleep. I just-I just- " Her voice broke, and she fought for control. "I just want to go home Char." Angelina told her running her hands through her hair. "I'll be over tomorrow, not sure what time but definitely after I've had a few hours sleep. Ok? You can get Kat over, and we can do the whole question and answer thing then, Ok?"

"Angie-"

"Please Char, I just want to go home and forget about this for the minute. Please." She whispered, sounding broken and defeated to her own ears.

"Ok, just let me get my car keys and I'll drop you back." Char answered, searing through her bag for the elusive keys.

"Don't bother, thanks though. But you've been drinking, a-and you should be here." She finished lamely. "I'll be fine, it's what? A two minute walk."

"Are you sure, I'll walk you back if you want. How did you get here anyway?"

"Oh, a taxi."

"You should have told it to wait, then it could have dropped you back."

"Nah, the walk'll do me good, clear my head."

"Sure you'll be ok? You'll be safe?"

"I'll be fine." Angelina insisted. "I'll see you tomorrow afternoon."

With that she unlocked the door and stepped outside, giving a brief wave to Char, and made her way down the pathway to the pavement and walked along without looking back. Only when she heard the front door slam shut did she glance around. Making sure no-one was looking, she apparated home.

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The flat was exactly how she had left it, but it looked different, felt different. But it wasn't the flat that was different was it? It was her. How she viewed life. How she viewed her home. How she viewed her friends.

Kicking her shoes off, Angelina navigated her way through the darkness of her flat towards her bedroom. Clothes were still scattered about on her bed and a couple of glasses and an empty bottle of wine stood on her dresser from earlier that evening.

She turned and walked back out of the room, and into the bathroom where she turned on the light and switched on the shower, letting the water heat up. Switching the light on she winced slightly as it glared down at her.

Grabbing a few towels out of the airing cupboard she tossed them into the bathroom, and stripped off her clothes and underwear, chucking them into the bin, removing her earrings and necklace she dumped them onto the bathroom counter.

Stepping into the shower she turned up the hot water once again, welcoming the way it bit into her skin, the way its heat was almost unbearable as it scorched her. Pulling the soap out from its dish she rubbed it over her body, scrubbing furiously, trying to get the scent of him off her body, trying to wash away his touch and caresses.  
  
She gave a slight cry as her hands skimmed over her hips. She glanced down, for the first time noticing the fresh bruises there. Bruises in the shape of finger prints. His finger prints. His marks. Had she left any on him?

Her body felt sore, stiff, and looked like she had been used. Well, she had hadn't she. She'd sold herself. Sold herself to Montague. Sold herself to a slytherin. Sold herself to Voldemort. She was no better than a prostitute. It didn't matter that she had sold herself so that her friends and family might live. She had still sold herself.

Oh God what had done? She gave as sob, and her stomach turned. Abandoning the soap, she pulled down the shampoo, and squirted it into her hair were she rubbed and scratched at her scalp, pulled at her hair. Her hair. He'd pulled her hair, tugged at it softly, gently, playfully, wrenched at it painfully, angrily. He'd wrapped it around his finger, studied the colour and texture of it, he'd let his fingers roam through it while he was fucking her. Using her. Screwing her. Her. Some whore. Some slut. That was what she was.

The hot water beat down on to her body. Her body that had betrayed her. The body that had wanted his touch. That had asked for it. The body that pushed against him, that had moved under his hands, under his mouth. It had wanted his touch, his release. Her body was still humming, pleasantly sore damn- it.

She shouldn't be feeling like this. If her body was going to be sore, it should be sore in a painful sense. Not teasing her with each movement. Not making her think of him.

The lather of the shampoo slipped down her face, into her eyes. Eyes that stung as the lather hit them. A hoarse sob rang out in the bathroom as she let the tears fall from her eyes, let them mingle with the water from the shower wash down her body to the shower floor where they disappeared down the drain.

She wasn't crying, no she really wasn't. It was the shampoo in her eyes. That was what was really causing the tears. It was.

Perhaps it was the way her legs gave out, the way her inner thoughts lacked conviction or maybe it was the gut wrenching cries that she was unable to contain within.

Anger faded away. And all that she was left with was feelings of disgust, sadness, revulsion directed at herself. For giving in so easily. For not fight harder.

Anguish took over her body as she thumped her fists against the tiled wall, trying to deceive herself into believing that she was crying for the pain that was tearing through her hands and arms. The loud howls and cries faded away along with the pounding of her fists against the wall.

Weeping, her shoulders and entire body shook as she curled up in a small ball in the corner of her shower, alone, where no-one would know the hurt that he had caused her, where no-one could hear her pain.

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A/N: Well, it's been sitting on the computer for the last few days, but I wasn't completely happy with it, (still aren't) but I've gone over it several times and haven't made any changes because I'm not sure how to improve it, so I figured I'd post it so I can continue with Chapter Four, and if anything comes to me a bit later then I'll repost this chapter. And if your all wondering which bit I'm unhappy with, its the beginning. I was thrilled with the ending however, so that won't be changing any time soon.


	5. Chapter 4

A/N: Thanks to **Cupiditatis**, **Ella Palladino**, **o m g its Lizzy**, **Gryfforin**, **elektra12**, **Ashliegh** and **WriterLady1031** for you reviews and advice.

There was a minor attack of writers block, I've re-written this chapter several times, even thought about dropping this chapter completely and going straight into the next chapter, but anyway here it is. It's needed I think.

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Montague stormed into his room's at court, flinging his white mask and black robes in the general direction of his bed as he ripped them off.

This was just fucking brilliant.

A crappy end to a crappy day. Voldemort was on a killing rampage, his plans had been interrupted with Johnson, which would likely prove disastrous, and to top it off those bloody death eaters knew there was a leak, which meant that everyone was under suspicion until the traitor was caught.

He slumped down into a random chair, staring pensively at something only he could see. The shouts and screams that rang throughout the corridor drifted in to where he was currently sitting.

Was it too much to ask? A single night where he could be alone? Be him? Not Montague the death eater. Not Montague the spy. Not Montague the slytherin. He just wanted to get away from it all, drop the multi-facades that were so much work to keep up. A break. That was all he wanted. But even he knew that it would not be possible until his 'Dark Lord' was dead.

The volume of noise from the corridors rose, indicating that hallways and other rooms at court were full.

Death eaters were rushing around, some in anticipation and excitement, and for others dread and fear.

Courtesans were fussing over their patrons, while others cowered from their masters tempers.

They would wait while the death eaters were in their meetings. Hoping that their clients would be receiving good news, or at least news that they would be satisfied with. Good news would be well rewarded. But if their masters had fallen from grace, their whores would be blamed, punished for their misfortune. And many new ones would be brought in to replace those lost.

With a sigh he rubbed his hands over his face before running them through his hair while debating what to do. Dumbledore needed to be informed of Voldemort's recent developments, as well as those regarding Johnson. Fuck.

There was no other word for it. And now he would be required to spend a few hours stuck in this dreary place. Playing the perfect little servant, tasting the delights of court and dabbling in the black arts while trying not to show his boredom.

He'd hoped to catch The Appleby Arrows against The Wimbourne Wasps on Saturday, perfect opportunity to drag Johnson along as well, show his influence over her to the death eaters, he'd be able to keep an eye over her, and squash any resistance that might spring up. Unfortunately it did not seem to be.

What was he thinking? Choosing a gryff?

He should have picked a dependable hufflepuff. Someone that would bend easily to his will. An intellectual ravenclaw would have been easy enough to handle, a promise of a few rare texts and 'volia!' instant success. Or maybe an ambitious slytherin, eager to work their way inside the death eater ranks.

This wasn't quidditch! It was a war! He didn't have the time to spend threatening her, breaking her spirit. Maybe he should just forget about her. He'd had her tonight, he wouldn't want her again would he?

No.

Of course he wouldn't.

What was he thinking?

Therefore the obvious thing to do would be to see Dumbledore, and get a new whore that could spy as well.

Johnson would be more trouble than she'd worth. She wasn't that great a shag.

He switched into another robe, this time a dark olive green, complete with the family crest.

Stealing out of his room Montague, moved silently down the draughty corridors, which reminded him all to much of his years at hogwarts, and towards the halls of Voldemort's palace. While he might be referred to as the Dark Lord by his followers, Voldemort's style was one of kings.

Remaining in the shadows he observed quietly. Voldemort was no where in sight, which meant that he was probably closed away in one of his rooms, understandable, he'd made his appearance tonight. The hall was spacious, cold. It lacked warmth despite the fires that blazed throughout, even magically induced they could not take away some of the biting chill that spread it's way throughout the hall and it's occupants.

Large medieval style tapestry's covered the thick granite walls. They depicted bloody battles, family crests of pureblood wizards that could trace their lines back to the time of Merlin, others were scenes of death eater meetings, the torture and rape of muggleborns, muggles, and half- bloods, and all of Voldemorts enemies.

Candles flickered overhead, illuminating the hall of most of the darkness, but not all. The corners and wall of the hall were still cast partly in shadow, showing death eaters huddled down with drugged and beaten muggles as they drunkenly availed themselves with both men and women alike, rutting like the animals they were.  
  
Other half dressed females were draped over death eaters, various body parts exposed as their patrons compared past and present mistresses, the latest missions and outings and how they thought they stood regarding the ministry and their lord in the middle of the floor.

Another muggle was chained up in a corner, her disfiguration, and the amount of blood surrounding her body leading him to believe her dead, or at least in a respite as those that were torturing her took a break. But he was leaning towards her being dead. It would be kinder for her if she was.

Malfoy was lounging in the middle of the room, surrounded by whore's, death eaters, anyone who was anyone, and anyone who wasn't. The small tables, placed stragecically at the ends of the couches were covered with bottles and empty glasses.

"Montague." The name was softly said, and he was not surprised to see its speaker emerge from the shadows.

"Nott." He replied, tipping his head slightly in a sign of recognition.

"How goes the lower circles?" His voice and tone full of derision.

"They continue to expand." Nott replied.

"Good. And your family? I trust they are well."

"Cut the crap Montague. We both know I'm not here to make small talk. Ever since Brenda's untimely death, there have been a few rumours flying around, people are beginning to think that your losing your touch."

"We don't think it. We know it." Malfoy's voice joined their conversation, as he sauntered over. "Really Montague, not man enough to keep a simple whore happy? No wonder she had to go crawling to Flint, begging to be fucked like a bitch in heat. I had a go at her myself, towards the end, she wasn't anything spectacular, but then again, most of court had been in her by that point." He gave a small smirk, watching Montague closely for any sign of reaction.

"Malfoy, let me make one thing very clear for you, I didn't share Brenda because she was a good fuck, but because she was mine." Montague's face was blank as he looked straight at Malfoy. Not flinching at the venom in the blonde's eyes. "In fact, I am thankful to Flint for removing the thorn in my side, the other's...well, they all died in unfortunate circumstances, and I didn't want people to start thinking I was some psychotic idiot who gets off killing his whore's in the middle of screwing them. I know that titles strictly reserved for you." He finished sneering.

"I-"

"What? Going to tell your father?" Montague snickered "Piss off and annoy someone else Malfoy."

"You'll get yours Montague. When I find your weakness, I'll hurt you in the worst possible way imaginable."

"Just as well I don't give have any weaknesses then isn't it?"

"Now, maybe. But sooner or later, your weakness will become apparent."

"Prat." Was all Montague muttered under his breath as he watched Malfoy walk away.

"He might be a prat, but he's a dangerous prat." Nott warned him.

"I can handle Malfoy." Montague growled. "Stay here. If anything of consequence happens, let me know. Immediately."

With his orders given, Montague once more returned to the shadows, disappearing into the inky darkness as he retired to his rooms.

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_'Please.' She begged. 'Please.' Her voice was quiet, barely above a whisper. _

_He smirked, placing a kiss on the inside of her knee, his tongue trailed higher up the inside of her leg, he licked the soft skin, before biting the same spot gently. She gave a small cry, and he drew back, studying his teeth marks that marred the bruised skin. His head dipped back down to the velvety skin and he ran his tongue over the imprints of his teeth, sucking softly. _

_Her hands gripped the black sheets as they stretched out over the bed. She whimpered softly as his hands trailed up her body, along the outside of her thighs, over the curve of her hips and along her stomach before brushing along the sides her breasts. _

_She moaned, writhing beneath him, wanting his touch, begging, pleading for something that only he could give. Him. She wanted him, was crying, moaning, whimpering with need for him. _

_Her breathing was ragged, loud gasps and panting filled the room, coupled with his own. _

_His hands came up to her face, but he didn't touch her, instead he placed one hand on either side of her head. He looked down at her from above, his arms holding off his upper body weight. _

_Her eyes were closed, her face covered in a thin sheen of sweat, bruised lips slightly parted. Black braids covered the pillow, spread out in a wild array around her. _

_The hands that were clenched in the black covers slackened their grip slightly as he leant down and kissed her, his tongue sweeping across her lower lip before pushing its way into her mouth, tangling with her own as he fought for control of her mouth. _

_He jumped slightly as he felt her hands come into contact with his stomach, tracing the smooth lines of his abs, her nails grazing at the skin. She giggled softly, breathlessly, as she felt him tense and then relax under her touch. _

_The tips of her fingers danced across the smooth sensitive skin, waltzed along the firm muscles, leaving goosebumps in their wake. His skin tingling under her touch. He gasped as her fingers skimmed across his nipples, scratching them with her nails. _

_Her hips ground against his with insistence, as her arms wrapped around him, pulling more of his body weight onto her, her nails digging into his back momentarily and then slipping down to his buttocks, gripping at them, urging him to enter her. _

_'Please,' she whispered into his hair as he nibbled at the skin on her throat. He shifted slightly, his mouth covered her's, swallowing any more cries. _

_He drew back, and entered her with a firm thrust, his eyes on her face. _

_Her eyes flew open and blue met brown. "Love you." She whispered._

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With a start Montague awoke, his eyes snapping open.

"What the fuck was that?"

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A/N: So what did you think? Not as emotional as the previous chapter I know, but the next chapter is going to have a bit more action in it so stay tuned! Depending on response, it's going to be up tues/weds or the sunday after. Review!


	6. Chapter 5

A/N: Thanks to all that reviewed. It's up later than expected I know, but here it is...finally!

* * *

She hadn't slept well that night, although that wasn't all that surprising, she'd been surprised she'd managed to sleep at all.

She'd slipped into bed wearing an old pair of flannel pyjamas, some thick socks, and holding a hot water-bottle, hoping to keep the shaking and shivers she experienced at bay. Hoping to melt away some of the numbness.

Her room was nothing like Montague's. A normal double sized bed, with plain white covers and pillow cases, an old patchwork quilt thrown over the bed that her grandmother had made. The floor was bare, a worn rag-rug by her side of the bed to take away the chill of the wooden floor first thing in the morning.

The rocking chair in the corner that she had picked up at a flea market was buried underneath piles of clothes that she'd hastily moved there from her bed and the floor. The top of the chest of drawers was covered with make-up, books, magazines and anything else that had been placed there. That along with her book case was filled with pictures and books. Any magical books had a muggle repellent charm placed on them, the same as her wizard photo's.

The wall's were plain white, lacking any adornment, but it had character, it had flavour, it was home, and it was safe.

She'd been woken up at five minutes past nine by her sister, demanding to know what had happened, why she hadn't called, and what had she been thinking? So it wasn't surprising that both Kat and Charlotte had turned up on her doorstep at ten in the morning, looking none the worse for wear while she was still in pyjamas.

The door opened and closed with a loud click and a slam as they let themselves in, their voices filtering throughout the small flat.

"Angie?"

"Angelina?"

"Where are you?"

"Have you had breakfast yet?"

"You all right in there?"

"I'm fine." Angelina answered as she moved out of bed. Despite the hot shower the night before she was still stiff and sore. "Won't be a second." She called back.

"We brought croissants, and donuts and fruit." Kat shouted back.

Stretching out, she groaned quietly as she tried to loosen up her muscles. They would give her away if nothing else did.

Padding softly into the living room, she made her way towards the soft plush couch and sat down on it, drawing her legs up underneath her.

"Here you go." Said Kat as she handed Angelina plate with a croissant, before she sat down on the couch opposite.

"Who wants what to drink?" Charlotte called from the kitchen.

"Tea please."

"Orange juice if there's any left."

"Ok, hang on a sec. Milk and two sugars Kat, yeah?"

"Yeah."

Nothing more was spoken, only the bubbling of the kettle, and the rattle of the cups and cutlery broke the tense silence of the flat.

She sat on the couch, not really taking anything in, occasionally pulling off a few strips of croissant and nibbling at them, but not once did Angelina meet her sister's eyes, instead she chose to stare out of the window, watching as a few pedestrians walked by, followed by the odd car.

"So what happened last night Angie?" Charlotte asked as she set the drinks down on the coffee table.

Turning her attention back to her sisters, she answered the question as she continued to tear small strips off her croissant. "Not much. Just had a few things that me and Montague needed to get set straight. Nothing else."

"Nothing else?" Kat questioned.

"Yes nothing else!" Angelina confirmed. "When I say nothing else, I do actually mean nothing else."

"Fine I was just asking!"

"And I was just saying." Angelina shot back, starting to get defensive.

"Anything else to eat Angie?" Charlotte broke in, eager to break up the erupting argument between the two sisters.

"No thanks." She answered her eyes still locked with Kat's.

"Who's Montague Angie?" Kat asked.

"You know who he is. Met him last night in fact."

"Of course she met him last night, had the pleasure of seeing you freak out about it too." Charlotte told her.

"He's no-one, just someone I...I didn't know him, more knew of him..."

"Funny, the way you flared up, and some of the insults you two came up with, it sounded like you knew each other pretty well. I've never seen you act that way before Angie. Not even with that drama over Weasley. "

Angelina shifted uncomfortably on the couch, glancing out at the window once again. "We had a few run-in's, nothing more." She answered evasively.

"I was getting a lot more than that from the vibes you were giving off." Charlotte commentated.

"Is he always that rude?" Kat mused.

Angelina gave a short bark of bitter laughter. "Rude? That? Jeez." She sighed, swinging her legs around so she could rest her feet on the floor, her elbows settled down on her knee's as she rubbed her face in her hands. "Jeez." They really didn't know him did they? They didn't understand how dangerous he was.

Kat and Charlotte watched her silently, wondering what to say next. This wasn't Angelina. The person last night they had witnessed insult Montague with ease wasn't Angelina. That wasn't their sister. Their best friend.

"Oh, for Montague that was civil. If he wanted to hurt you, threaten you, or insult you, you'd know it."

"That was him being civil?"

"Civil to you, not necessarily civil to me. Our relationship has always been...hell, I don't have the words. Actually, 'hell' would describe it aptly.

And answering your question from last night Kat, yes, that was the Montague that knocked me unconscious. Bas- Git that he is."

"So...what happened after we left?"

The question swirled around in her head. _What happened after we left? _She would have to tell them. Or rather she would have to tell them something.

_'...Your just a means to an end...This little deal of ours is going to be on a need to know only basis...'_

She would tell them enough. But no more than that.

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The Order meeting room was full of chaos, everyone speaking at the same time, their voices becoming louder and louder as they tried to make themselves heard first.

Montague sat back in his chair, legs pushed out in front of him, crossed at the ankles, one hand holding his head up, and the other tapping impatiently on the wooden arm of his seat. A figure that oozed boredom, indifference, and what appeared to be a casual manner, showing that he had no regard for those that he was sitting with.

He watched the room from under lidded eyes, and while it might look like he was half asleep, and perfectly at ease, but his eyes missed nothing. The positions of the order members in the room.

The way Nott and Snape merged into the background, not drawing attention to themselves, even when surrounded by allies. The way that Lupin sat by the door, how Shacklebolt and Tonks had situated themselves by the windows, and Moody was standing by the fire.

Tension crackled in the room. Distrust, anger, fear. He rolled his neck and shoulders, able to hear the cracks and clicks that generated from it.

It was with a small smirk of amusement that he rubbed the cuts on his face. A couple of small scratches he'd forgotten about, surface wounds only. Nothing like the marks on his back, where she'd hurt him physically, as he hurt her emotionally. The nail marks were still angry, red lines, running up and down the length of his back, along with small half crescent moons from where she gripped him so tightly she'd broken skin. It was only after that he'd become aware of the scratches, when he was changing from his death eater robes.

Dumbledore entered the room, and the babbling noise quieten immediately upon his unannounced arrival. Those that were milling around took their seats.

There were other members of the meeting that weren't present. In fact the entire numbers of the order, and who were members was, Montague supposed, only known to Dumbledore. It was safer that way, he mused. If anyone got caught and broke under truth spells, potions, or just good old fashion torture, well, they might give away a few names, but there would be others that were free to carry on the work of the order.

Business talk started. Talk of raids, death, rape, torture, horrifying things that were now part of their life now. Things that were still dreaded, still caused pain, but were accepted. Because they were inevitable in this new world.

"Do you know anything of what happened on saturday night, at the muggle night club?"

"You mean apart from the obvious, it being a night club?" Snape drawled, his eyebrows raised.

"And not a very good one at that, the music there is terrible." Interjected Nott.

"Definitely." Montague agreed. "Why?"

"There was an attack there." Dumbledore informed them.

Montague waved his hand, as if waving away the thought of the attack. "Oh, that. Yes."

"What do you mean? 'Oh that. Yes'" Asked George Weasley.

"Sorry?" Montague inquired with bored politeness.

"The nightclub!"

"Oh, yes. It was attacked."

George persisted "We know it was attacked. Why?"

There was puzzled look on Montague's face. "Why was it attacked? Damned if I know."

"You're damned whether you know or not." Fred muttered, only to be elbowed in the ribs by his girlfriend, Hermione Granger.

"Of course the obvious reason would be because it's a muggle nightclub." Nott snickered.

"But do you know who was involved with the attack."

"No, unfortunately we do not." Snape sighed. "And because of it, there was a meeting last night."

"You mean you have no idea?" Hermione questioned, eyes wide in disbelief.

Snape shook his head, "If we had an idea girl, we'd have said."

"Nott? Montague? Have you heard any rumours?"

"No." Nott told her.

"Montague?"

"What?"

"Have you heard anything?" Frustration was plainly writ upon her face. "About the nightclub attack...?"

"Oh, yes."

She prodded again, "And?"

"I attacked it."

"Why?"

"Because it was a muggle nightclub. Does anyone else feel like we're going round in circles?"

"You attacked a muggle night club! You're supposed to be on our side!" Fred exploded.

"I am, I just had business there. To help...encourage my negotiations I needed a few more...persuasive tactics. You'll be happy to know that it all worked out well." He assured them.

"If that is the case, am I to believe that you have found a new replacement?" Dumbledore questioned. "I know that we were due to discuss it if you found no-one suitable."

"Replacement?" Fred Weasley snorted. "Why bother? They're only going to end up dead! How could you just let them kill Brenda like that?!" He hissed, his eyes livid.

Year's of old rivalry came back to the surface as Montague glared across at Fred. Here he was, about to do the noble thing, 'For once' said his snarky inner-self, and give up Johnson, which admittedly, wasn't a particular sacrifice on his side, he assured himself, her being more trouble than she'd be worth at any rate, but here he was, about to be the bigger person! Really! You'd have thought the weasel would be over old rivalry's from years ago!

"Actually," Nott started-

"Why are you so bothered?" Montague cut in, "It's not like you were engaged to that one." A sardonic smirk curled it's way onto his face.

"What are you getting at Montague?"

"Mmm, she tastes divine y'know?" He licked his lips for emphasis. "What am I saying? Of course you know! Screamed herself hoarse." Montague chuckled, his eyes never leaving Fred's. "Got a little rough," he continued, rubbing at the scratches on his face, "But she was soon put in her place. Put her straight to work, those hands, that mouth, that body! Altogether a great little screw!

Can't see why the hell you had to go elsewhere, should have chained her to the bed like I did! Even when you got caught! Why didn't you just obliviate her or something, a memory forgetting potion! I can't believe that you traded her in for a mudblood! But what the hell! All the better for me!"

"How dare you!" Fred exploded, his face as bright as his hair as he lunged across the table at Montague, only to be restrained by Tonks And Kingsley who had been moving progressively closer to him as Montague's speech had continued.

He struggled against the hold of the two auror's as his eyes shot daggers at Montague's cool expression, who's body had not even so much as shifted an inch as Fred had tried to attack him.

"Sorry." Montague apologised, making the apology sound like an insult. "But the Mudblood seems like such a frigid little thing at that, but y'know what they say! It's the quiet ones you have to watch!

Maybe she learnt something more important from books for once." He gestured aimlessly with free hand as he leered a Hermione. "But believe me, it's a lot more fun done by trial and error."

He snickered as he watched Weasley lunge for him again, only to be pulled back in his seat, this time by his girlfriend.

"Go anywhere near Mione, and I'll kill you!" Fred growled at him.

"Oh don't worry, I won't go near her. She's not even worth the threat of one of your little inventions!"

"Your lying!" Fred shouted, his voice rising loud and clear over the murmurs from the others in the room. Tonks and Shacklebolt tensed, as if waiting for Fred to once again jump out of his chair towards the former slytherin.

"Angelina would never willingly sleep with you!" Fred bellowed.

Montague raised his eyebrow, a sneer twisting his handsome features. There was palpable pause, before Montague hissed out, "Who said she was willing?"

The room hushed instantly, horrified looks covering most of their faces.

"You bastard! You complete fucking bastard!" ranted Fred.

"Really Montague, a gryffindor?" Snape drawled, his face full of disdain.

"I know," answered Montague, not breaking eye contact with Fred, "but she'll be so much more fun to break."

"Wouldn't have thought you'd go after my sloppy second's Montague." Fred growled. "What was it like knowing that she had me first?"

"Oh she definitely wasn't sloppy Weasel, don't worry on my behalf." Montague shot back. "You might have had her first, but we both know I've done things to her that you still only dream about."

With a roar the brief silence was broken, and this time when Fred lunged across the table, slid along it and drove his fist into Montague's jaw. But the smirk didn't leave Montague's mouth, but his eyes hardened as the smirk grew, with something akin to a sneer he spat the blood welling up in his mouth onto Fred's face.

The fist that he had allowed to hit him once, rose again, but didn't land before a cry of **"**Petrificus Totalus!" rang out.


	7. Chapter 6

A/N: Well the next chapter is finally up, let me know what you think of the latest developments.

Cupiditatis: Thanks for reviewing, seem's your not the only one who likes how Montague provokes Fred!

elektra12: Glad you like where it's heading!

k-san: Glad you like this fic so far, let me know what you think of this update!

Evilevergreen: Thankyou for reviewing, le me know if you're still hooked!

WriterLady1031: Well, you didn't have to wait as long as the others for the next update!

latisha: Thanks for reading, man, I was so chuffed (happy) when I read that this fic had been recommended! Thanks!

Ashliegh: Your reviews are always so long! Lovely! Happy that you liked the background story, more from the history of Fred/Angelina will soon become common knowledge, and why he did what he did, and further reactions!

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It was just after nine when Emmy arrived, a whirlwind of energy and warmth. Josh ran in before her, squeezing through the doorway as soon as he could fit and shouting for "Auntie Angle-lina! Auntie Angle-lina!"

It was with a laugh that Angelina appeared from her bedroom, in a pair of faded jeans and a t-shirt, her hair pulled up into a ponytail, out of the way of her face.

"Hey buddy!" She exclaimed, swinging Josh into the air as he rushed towards her, before catching him and hugging him close. "Emmy!" She smiled, walking over to her sister her arms still full of Josh who had of yet refused to let her go and had wound his arms around her neck. Angelina embraced her sister with the practice of one who is used to having a child in the way.

"How are you?"

"Not bad, and you?" Emmy answered back.

"Going on. It feels an age since I last saw you all, and yet it's only been a week or two." Angelina chuckled turning her attention to her nephew who had been impatiently trying to get her attention, bored now with the formalities.

"What are we going to do today Auntie Angle-lina? You said we were going to do something _really_ special today!"

"Did I? Whenever did I say that?"

His eyes widened, as if unable to believe what she was saying. "Last time. You promised we could do anything I wanted. Anything!"

"Josh." Emmy warned, before turning on her sister. "Angie! You can't let him walk all over you! You don't have to do something everything he visits!"

"But Mummy! I never walk over Auntie Angle-lina! She's to big!" Protested Josh.

"No, he just climb's all over me! Isn't that right Josh!"

"You spoil him Angie! All the toys he's got over here! His own room!"

"He's my only nephew to date! I can afford to spoil him! Besides the toys he has over here he can hardly take home can he?" She set Josh down and they watched him make his way into his room, turning back she raised an eyebrow at Emmy.

"I 'spose not..."

"You know not! How would you explain the mini quidditch kit? The Kid's Kauldron? Or the enchanted storybooks to the neighbours?"

"But still..."

"You don't want me to spoil him so much? Give me a few more nephew's and niece's so I can share my love!"

Emmy laughed, "You need a man little sister!"

"So you say each time I see you! Are you going to say for a drink before you disappear?"

"Don't I always?!"

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Emmy left at half past ten, confirming that Angelina would give Josh his tea, and have him home by eight at the latest.

Josh having dictated a list to Angelina, and then together debating the pro's, and con's of each activity had finally decided that they wouldn't go to the zoo today, and would instead 'do that next time,' claimed that he wanted to go to the beach.

"Sandcastles and ice-cream, huh? I think I can manage that."

The doorbell rang and Angelina frowned. "Who can that be?" She asked out loud. "Why don't you go into your room and get changed into some shorts and a t-shirt?"

"Ok" Josh nodded happily, heading off to his room as the door bell rang again.

Crossing over towards the door, she heard Josh asking if he could take his Shooting Star Broom with him to the beach.

"Yes, but what do we not do?"

"I don't fly it when there are other people around, I don't go any higher that you and...I am to always to stay close to you."

"Good!" Angelina shook her head, smiling to herself as she swung open the door. The smile slid off her face though as she saw who was on the other side of the door. She went slam it shut, but his arm shot out and prevented her from doing so.

Pushing the door open, he moved on into Angelina's living room, tutting at her as he did so. "Angelina, darling, is that anyway to treat someone who could have your entire family killed in under ten seconds?"

"What the hell are you doing here Montague?" Angelina hissed out.

"A bit small for my tastes," He told her, commenting on the size of her apartment. "But even so, it isn't small enough to disappear off the death eater's radar chart completely.

Ignoring his remark, Angelina asked him once again what he was doing at her home, glancing over her shoulder towards Josh's room, a voice at the back of her mind was screaming at her not to turn her back on Montague, but she ignored it more concerned about him seeing Josh.

"You know you really should have a few more wards up around here."

"Get out of my home Montague." Angelina told him softly, but the volume of the demand didn't disguise the steely warning behind it.

"Why? Got another lover tucked away in here?".

"No. And even if I did it wouldn't concern you."

His arm snapped out and grabbed her by the jaw, twisting her face back round to look at him as she tried to glance over her shoulder once again.

"Be careful what you say and imply Johnson." He spat. "I'm a jealous, possessive bastard. I'll admit that straight up. I know how to protect what's mine."

"I'm not yours!" She protested, bringing her hand up to knock his grip on her jaw away. She succeeded, and was free for a second before his hands came bearing down on her shoulders and he pulled her towards him.

"Wrong Johnson. Very, very wrong."

"You had me. You fucked me. That was the deal. The transaction was completed."

"Yes, I had you. I fucked you. But your not going anywhere yet."

"What?! That wasn't the deal!"

"There was no time limit to the deal. You forgot to mention any terms."

"And I suppose that you were to much of a gentleman to bring them up?"

He sniggered. "No, it's just more convenient this way."

"You're a bastard Montague!"

Montague replied not missing a beat, whispering his statement into her ear, "And you're a whore Johnson. My whore."

"Get the fuck away from me!" She shoved his hands off her body, trying to get away from him, but he persisted and it was not long before he had reversed their positions and had her trapped against the door.

"What the hell do you think your doing Montague?"

"Whatever the hell I want. You're my whore remember?"

Angelina opened her mouth to respond but before she could his mouth clamped down on her own, muffling any protests. She retaliated by biting down on his bottom lip, and as he pulled back she could see that that she'd drawn blood.

His tongue snaked out, and cleaned away the blood while his eyes flashed dangerously. "You want it rough Johnson, and I'll give it to you rough. But just remember that our idea's of 'rough' might not be on the same level."

"Who are you?" a solemn voice asked from behind Montague.

Montague turned around to stare down at the figure, surprise apparent on his features before it vanished. He bent down so he was looking eye to eye with Josh. "My name is Alexander Montague and who are you?"

"I'm Josh." He told Montague simply. "Are you coming to the beach with us?"

"No he isn't." Angelina said sharply. "I'm sure Mr Montague doesn't want to get sand in his shoes." Her tone softened as she spoke to Josh. "Get your broom and your bucket and spade and we'll be ready to go in just a moment. I need to speak to Mr Montague a minute."

"Ok." Without a second thought Josh went back into his bedroom on a hunt for his required possession's. Not a word was spoken until he went into his bedroom, and Angelina seized advantage of Montague being a few feet away from her and moved forward, opening a box on a side stand she pulled out her wand and cast and silencing spell on the room so Josh wouldn't be able to hear them.

Once she was done Montague spoke first. "Memento from Weasley?"

Her palm slammed into his face before she could stop it, and she felt oddly satisfied with the way the shape of her palm stood out on his pale skin. "Don't you _ever_ speak about my nephew like that again."

He smirked lazily at her, as if amused by her reaction. "Oh? Does her belong to someone else then? Or don't you know who his father is?"

It was perhaps lucky for Montague that Josh decided to make his second entrance then if the way Angelina was looking at him was any indication. But Montague had not yet finished toying with Angelina.

Turning at Josh, he glanced at the broom the little boy held in his hand. "Is that a Shooting Star?" He asked.

"Yes! Auntie Angle-lina brought it for me for christmas!" Josh told him excitedly.

"I'm sure Mr Montague isn't interested Josh. Anyway-" Angelina started.

"I suppose you know all about quidditch then!"

"Yes, but not as much as Auntie Angle-lina does though! She know everything! Did you know that she played quidditch when she was at Hogwarts?"

"Mr Montague really must be going Josh-" Angelina began again, eager to remove her nephew from Montague's clutches.

"Of course. She played chaser. And she was captain as well."

"How do you know that? Were you on her team as well?"

Despite the years that had past since he'd played quidditch at Hogwarts, Montague couldn't contain his burst of laughter at the thought of himself playing on the gryffindor quidditch team.

"No. I was on a far better team. If you ever go to hogwarts you want to be sorted into Slytherin. That's the best house, and they have the best quidditch team as well."

"But Auntie Angle-lina say's that Gryffindor's the bestest house and only bad and mean little boys get put into slytherin."

"Josh!" Angelina reprimanded horrified.

"Straight from the children's mouth's eh?" Montague sent a small smirk over at Angelina before turning his attention back to Josh. "But I was in Slytherin. Do I seem bad to you?"

There was a small pause before Josh spoke, his face creased in consternation. "But Auntie Angle-lina's always right about everything."

"Really. What else is she right about then?"

"Well...Auntie Angle-lina always says that the Appleby Arrows are the best quidditch team _ever_!"

"Really? Well, we'll just have to test that theory then won't we?"

"No we won't Montague!" Angelina declared.

"Nonsense." He said looking at her. "We can't have you deluding the poor boy can we? We'll just have to go and see the match today won't we. Appleby Arrows versus Kenmare Kestrels."

Josh was jumping up and down in excitement "Really! Auntie Angle-lina always say's that I'm not old enough! Am I old enough! Am I really old enough?"

"Yes!"

"No." Angelina and Montague said at the same time.

"Yes." Montague restated. "Providing you co-operate Angelina," he said, pulling her name out, "I can, out of the goodness of my heat, assure you that nothing will go amiss."

* * *

A/N: Well review and let me know what you think! Please!


	8. Chapter 7

A/N: It's a shorter chapter than usual, which is probably why it's up sooner, but I think that despite it's lenght it's needed for the story.

Cupiditatis: I'm pleased to know that the last chapter wss worth waiting for, and the reason for Josh will soon be revealed, though perhaps not completely in this chapter, I do think though that there are a few hint's so see if you can pick them out! Thanks for reviewing! .

elektra12: I thankyou for your dance of joy, never had one of those before! Thanks for reviewing!

Evilevergreen: Glad to know that you love Montague, I don't want to alienate him from reader's. Is this update soon enough for you?! Thanks for reviewing!

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"Wow!" Josh exclaimed as Appleby Arrows scored again, watching in fascination as they re-grouped back into formation, their fans cheering and celebrating, happy that their team was making a comeback, while Kenmare Kestrels grit their teeth in determination and vowed that the Arrows would not score again. If only Starkling would hurry up and catch the snitch! 

The atmosphere of the crowd in the stadium was electrifying, flags were being waved, cheer's and jeers hurled about. Wild explosions of fireworks were shooting around inside the crowd.

Only Angelina was the only person happy to be present. Josh was standing by the edge of the stands, leaning over, eyes and mind eager to take in everything possible. Montague sat, lounging in his chair, sitting up and tensing whever something itresting happened and laughing at the fouls committed, occasionally pointing something out to Josh.

But Angelina sat stiffly in her seat, her back straight, her mouth in a grim line and her shoulder's set. Anxiety was easily read in her eyes and small lines marred the smooth skin around them. She jumped at the smallest bang, always fearing the worst.

Montague's promise of nothing going wrong did nothing to reassure her. Out of the goodness of his heart. Did he even have a heart? Anyway, what they viewed as being bad were completely different.

That was why she hadn't yet taken Josh to his first quidditch game until today. It was too dangerous. Too risky. She'd rather have him alive and sulking than happy at a quidditch game and then dead in some random or planned death eater attack.

"Kestrels back in possession...Hughes heading up the pitch, supported by McClintock, he dodges Bell...passes Clarkson, but it's stolen away by Smith, Arrow's now back in possession- that's a lovely bludger play there from Nott and Kelson for kestrels scoops that up...fantastic reverse pass there to McClintock who's fouled by Clarkson but play contiues...kestrels falling into their favourite formation now and they score! That's 70-40 to the Kestrels!"

"Come away from the edge Josh, you can stand on one of the chairs if you can't see." Angelina told him, her was face taunt with anxiety, strain apparent in her voice.

"Leave him be Johnson. The boy's fine!" Montague smirked at her.

"No! He-"

Another ding rang out, and it was announced that Kestrels had scored again.

"Did you see that Auntie Angle-lina?" Josh exclaimed. "Nott knocked Bell right off her broom!"

"Oh no! Is she alright?" Angelina asked, peering over the edge trying to spot her friend.

But Josh had already turned to Montague. "He smashed her broom in two Alex!"

"Mr Montague Josh!" She reprimanded.

"Don't you listen to her Josh!"

"And the two chaser's are going into a dive, Chang slightly ahead of Starkling...there's some pushing and shoving going on in there...and Chang clobber's Starkling who falls behind once more! What is this referee doing?! Hughes scores for the Kestrels...Arrow's really lagging behind now that their one down...Bell still out on the sidelines being attended to by the medi-wizard...Zabini for Arrow's sends a bludger across for Starkling- but it misses, hit's Chang instead and takes her out of range for the snitch...starkling makes a wild snatch for the snitch...and he takes it! Kenmare Kestrels win, 240-40!

This is their fifth win so far in the season, losing only to Falmouth Falcons, but this season is really becoming a nightmare for the Appleby Arrow's as they've lost their forth game this season and are currently bottom of the league. Will they stage a comeback? Join us next week in Cornwall for Falmouth Falcons's versus Puddlemere United!"

"Did you see that?! Did you?!" Josh cried, jumping up and down.

"Of course we did! Quite an unfortunate play by Zabini though wasn't it. Always telling him at Hogwarts not to take those such risks."

Sacrastically Angelina muttered. "Is suppose that you rather have him club Starkling over the head with his fist."

"Yes. Far more suitable, and of course less chance of it going wrong, and if he does get caught doing it, the only forfeit is a penalty and then you're back on even footing because the snitch has disappeared again by the time it's all over."

"You're not ever to cheat at anything Josh. Never." Angelina told him, ignoring Montague's response.

"Cheat. Always cheat." Montague said, contradicting Angelina's advice. "Just don't get caught."

Josh looked between the two adults, his favourite Aunt and his new friend Alex. His face creased momentarily, before clearing as he forgot all about the subject as it lost interest for him.

"I'm going to be a beater! Like Nott! And knock mean girls like Camilla Rigby off their brooms!"

Montague gave another burst of spontaneous laughter, while Angelina protested.

"Would you like to meet Nott Josh?" Montague asked suddenly.

"Really?! Please! Do you know him Alex?!"

"No. We haven't the time Josh, the game went on far longer than I expected and we really must be getting home."

"Don't be silly Angelina." Montague told her softly, his voice, as hard and cold under it's silky exterior. "If Josh would like to meet Nott then he shall meet him." The tone in his voice was final. "Come. We can catch him before he disappears into the shower's."

"Thank you Alex!" Josh burst out, looking at Montague with something akin to awe. "No-one ever gets Aunt Angle-lina to do anything she doesn't want too. Mummy says she's a stubborn as a mule!"

Angelina flushed in embarrassment, and the paled as she heard the words out of Montague's mouth. They weren't meant for Josh, they were meant for her. Josh wouldn't understand the meaning behind the words. "You can make anyone do anything. It's just a case of having the right kind of leverage over them. Isn't that right Angelina?"

Her mouth opened, ready to make a retort, but her throat closed up, and she was unable to make a sound. He smirked at her before rising out of her seat and moving towards the stands exit.

Josh took off after him like a puppy, eager to please his master. Rising slowly, Angelina walked towards the two of them, right not two of the most important men in her life. Montague, who held the power to destroy her entire family without so as much as breaking a sweat, and Josh her nephew.

Walking towards them, her eyes caught on how Josh had grabbed hold of Montague's hand. Montague's hands had killed, and her nephew was holding onto it like he was going to lose it. Right now, Josh was the leverage, they both knew that, Josh was but a pawn to Montague, a pawn who could be discarded and sacrificed as easily as it was used.

As she reached them, Montague's arm reached out, and wrapped it around her waist, pulling her close to him, and as she was tucked up against him, the grip around her waist tightened for a fraction of a second before his arm relaxed slightly, but still remained firm around her body.

And so they walked off to find Nott. To many they looked like a small family, out for the day and perfectly happy, a husband with his arms wrapped secularly around his wife and holding his son's hand as they walked along.

But to the others? They all asked the same question. What the hell was Montague playing at?

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A/N: Ok, now this is important at the moment. What are you view's regarding Emmy and Josh so far? Like them? Annoyed by them? Do I need to focus more on them? Montague's reaction's to Josh too OC? Let me know as all tips and views are welcomed and needed.


	9. Chapter 8

Digital Tempest- I love the way other's view Montague, and your decrisption of him being 'depraved and snarky' made me laugh because it describes his character perfectly. Pleased to know that you'll be on the look out for more of this, be sure to let me know what you think with the direction it's heading in!

Enchated Flower- Loved your review and hope that you keep reading! angelface04-Thankyou for the view's regarding Josh and Montague's view's of him, but can he be that heartless? You'll just have to carry on reading and find out! The Fred/Hermione/Angelina storyline will come into play soon, and at this current moment in time, Montague will be present, so expect lots of fireworks! (But, be warned, it might change.) Your feelings towards Montague made me laugh, and hopefully this chapter will amuse you!

Adnama- Thankyou for your review and your advice as it was very helpful, and I understand what you mean about the sterotypical character's, because I think that Emmy could turn into an older Kat, only more mature, and by not including them as main, or surrounding character's I'll be able to spend more time with Montague and Angelina and the plot of the story.

elektra12- I'm relieved to see that the subtly manipulation involving Josh and Montague comes across, and I think, further's Montague's character because it allow's the reader to see that he's willing to go to any length's for what he wants and he's not afraid of using anyone that's of any use to him, even if it's a child. Thankyou for your review it was very helpful.

Evilevergreen- Your asking to many questions that I can't answer because it would give away too much of the future plot lien! lol! But the answers to your questions will soon be revealed, bit by bit mind you! Thanks for reviewing and it's nice to know that you like Josh, but to let you know if you're getting close, on some of the questions you're warm, I'll leave you to guess which ones!

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The party of three had arrived back at Angelina's flat just before half six, and upon entering, Angelina found a message on her answer phone from Emmy telling her, that should she need to drop Josh off before they had arranged, that she and John were now home.

Needless of say, Angelina took one look at Josh, asleep and being held by Montague before deciding that it was time for his bed and that it was best for him to be handed over to Emmy.

Normally Angelina wouldn't have bothered, instead putting him to bed in his room and leaving him to have a nap before giving him supper and taking him over Emmy's, but her nephew had taken a liking to Montague, and it was based upon this point that she was determined to remove him from Montague's clutches as soon as possible.

Telling Montague to wait in her flat if he wanted to speak to her, Angelina whisked Josh away and back home. Not bothering to wait for an answer from Montague, she was out of the door before he could protest.

Rolling her neck to relieve the tension and grimacing when hearing the crack's that were produced, Angelina dragged her legs up the last few steps to her front door, wanting only to soak in a hot bath, and crawl into bed, forgetting the entire day and pretending that it was all a bad dream.

However, the light peaking out from under the door, alerted her to someone's presence inside her flat. Maybe Montague had decided to stay?

What could he want now?

He'd taken everything she'd ever held dear, he'd used her, shamed her. What more could he want? He really was a first class bastard!

Threatening her with Kat and her friends. Telling her that one signal from him and Josh could plummet to his death from Nott's broom if she put one toe out of line. One wrong move and a random curse from the crowd could be the end of her nephew.

How could she explain that to her family? To her sister? Was she really prepared to take that risk?

Anger boiled up inside of her. Anger at Montague, anger at Voldemort, and most of all hatred and self loathing aimed at herself for allowing herself to be pushed around. For not fighting back. For not being sensible enough to lay down certain agreements in their deal. For being naive and silly enough to think that he would just go away.

She opened the door to her apartment; enraged to see him lounged out on her sofa, a wine glass in his hand half full and his feet up on the coffee table! Even Josh had better manner's that that!

"What the hell do you think your playing at Montague?" She shouted at him, slamming the door behind her for effect. "Do you have the slightest fucking clue of what you are doing? Do you?" She continued at she stalked towards him. The words clogged up in her throat. There was so much she wanted to say, so much that she needed to express and get out that she didn't know how to put it across, even the ranting and cursing didn't seem to make any difference, only making her more frustrated with her inability to find the right words.

Montague looked across at her, his eye's bored and cynical as he heard her outburst, with a hint of something else as she stood in front of him. Not an inch had he moved since she'd opened the door's, only his head had turned towards her.

"And get your feet off my coffee table!"

"Well, this is a turn up for the books." He commented. "From annoying whore to nagging wife. 'Get your feet off my coffee table.' In that case my dear, I shall reply, 'I bought it so I may do what ever the hell I want with it.'"

"But you didn't buy it! You don't own it, I do! So get your bloody feet off!"

He tsked at her in an annoyingly patronizing way, before explaining to her that, "I own you. Ergo, whatever you own, I own."

A voice asked from behind her, "Angie?"

"Charlotte!" Angelina flushed, spinning around she was already imaging the worst, various scenarios playing out in her head where Montague cursed them all, or Charlotte shouted and screamed at her, hurling abuse at her for her decision of sleeping with the enemy.

"Do you want me to hang on a minute? Let you two finish whatever you're arguing about?" Charlotte asked, ready to retreat back into Angelina's room and away from the scary eyes of Montague. He was like something out of the romance novels, dark, intense, moody, an enigma to the female race, wild and unruly, ruthless and never willing to settle.

There was one thing about this new guy of Angelina's that stood out a mile, and that was that he always got what he wanted, by whatever means necessary. 'And from the way he's looking at Angelina, I'd say he wants her. To throw her to the ground and fuck her senseless no doubt. Men.' She snorted mentally.

"Not at all." Montague cut in smoothly.

"I was asking Angie, not you." Charlotte bit out. "Angie told us what happened the last time that she saw you. I know what kind of guy you are _Montague_. A noble name, shame about the bastard it belongs too."

"Char!" Angelina moaned. This was all she needed, Montague and Charlotte to go head to head in her living room.

An eyebrow rose, "And what pray tell, did Angelina say happened the last time I saw her?"

Angelina's heart raced, blood pumping faster and faster through her veins, wild eyes flashed out at those she was watching, only Montague picked up on the signals she was sending, Charlotte focusing all her attention on Montague.

"That you wanted some photo's from her, and you weren't particular about how you got them. And that-"

"Char!" Angelina broke in, desperate at this point. "Please, could you give us a second?" She near enough pleaded.

Charlotte looked at Angelina hard, almost as if looking for something in her eyes before nodding her head and going back into Angelina's bedroom, closing the door behind her.

"How do you know she's not listening to us right now?" Montague questioned her. "I'm sure she can hear what we're talking about in there just as well if she was in the same room."

"Charlotte is my friend. And a good one at that. She's an honest enough person to give us some privacy, and not listen behind the keyhole!" A second later music wafted through from the bedroom, and Angelina could pick out the faint lyrics from Katie Melua's 'The Closest Thing To Crazy.'

"Could you not have come up with a better cover story? Photo's?" Montague set his glass down on the coffee table, pinching the bridge of his nose and closing his eyes briefly. "I sound pathetic!" He complained.

"You are!" Angelina shot back.

"I'm also the one with enough power to wipe out your_ entire_ family." He warned her softly.

The doorbell rang, and it was with a sigh of annoyance and frustration that Angelina went and answered it.

"Hey Angie!" Kat grinned, giving her a one armed hug with the hand that was wrapped around the neck of a bottle of wine. The other was supporting a large cardboard box, advertising 'Pizza Hut' and it's free home delivery service if delivered in less that 30 minutes.

Brushing past her, Kat placed the pizza one the dining table along with the wine, and headed into the kitchen, she emerged a few seconds later, a handful of serviette's and a couple of glasses with her.

"Char not here yet?" She asked. "She said she was on her way over when I call her half an hour ago, hope nothing's happened."

Angelina frowned, trying to remember what was going on. "No...she's here."

"Brilliant! Did she pick up a good movie?"

Movies! That was it! Movies! They were going to crash out and eat pizza, drink wine and watch the latest rental dvd!

"Don't know." Angelina told her. But Kat wasn't listening. Instead she was looking at Montague with confusion.

"Your Montague. The photo guy, from the club aren't you?" She asked.

Not even bothering to answer her verbally, Montague merely tilted his head, showing that he had heard.

"You knocked Angelina off her broom." Kat stated.

"Why does everyone bring that up?" Angelina exclaimed. "That was the first thing that you all said when I pointed out who he was! What is the big deal?!"

Kat looked at Angelina in amazement. Where was her calm, even-tempered sister? The one that stopped her, Emmy and heaven knows who else from doing something incredibly stupid. Sue there was the odd report from school about scuffles in the corridors with other houses, but they had never seen Angelina get this worked up before.

Strange isn't it. The effect's certain people have on you?

Montague snickered and brought Kat out of her thoughts prompting her to turn to Angelina and ask, "What he is doing here?"

"He, is just about to leave." Angelina said.

"No I wasn't." Montague told her, smiling all the while.

His face transformed, making the once handsome features look gorgeous, and if he was anyone else she'd have been drooling right there, but to Angelina such a look on Montague was horrifying, as if such an expression shouldn't belong to someone so unworthy of it.

'That's how he gets his victims.' Angelina concluded. 'He charms them to death.'

"Yes, you were." Angelina informed Montague just as sweetly, in a singsong voice.

"Angelina, darling, have you forgotten our plans for tonight?"

"Alex, honey, we have no plans for tonight. Not tonight, not any night."

"Okay..." Kat mumbled to herself. "Understanding that Char might actually be seeking sanctuary in Angie's room right now..." Tip-toeing out of the living room, she stole into Angie's room and shut the door softly behind her. Her absence not noticed by Angelina, and only by habit for Montague.

-------------------------

"They still at it?" Charlotte asked from where she was sitting on Angelina's bed flipping through a magazine, but seeing Kat she tossed it aside and looked up at her determined to get all the details. Just because she didn't listen behind keyholes didn't mean that she didn't want to know what was going on between Angelina and the so-called Montague.

"Uh-huh. Debating over plans for tonight, Montague's telling her they have them, and she's telling him that they made no arrangements. 'Not tonight, not any night.' Angelina told him." Kat chuckled.

"Did she not leave him any hints?"

"Plenty of hints. Not very subtly done either."

"He seemed very astute, maybe I was wrong."

"Oh no. He understands what she's getting at all right. Just won't do anything about it. Difficult to get rid of that one."

"So it would seem."

"Talk about sexual tension."

"Tell me about it! The room was practically pulsating with it."

"I know! It's like there's another meaning behind everything they say."

There was a pause before Kat spoke. "She should just shag him and get it over with, get it all out of the way and then start looking for a suitable boyfriend."

"Not Montague?"

"No, not from what I've read about him in her letter's home, he's not the boyfriend type, more like a 'love 'em and leave 'em' type of bloke. No future for her with him, but still she should sow her wild oats with someone like him and find a nice dependable guy to settle down with. Need's her own little family does our Angelina, someone she can devote all her love too."

"Sorry about that." Angelina apologised as she entered her room.

"No problem. Are we still on for tonight though or what?" Charlotte asked.

"Still on. Definitely. Despite the egotistical prat." Angelina told them. "Although it looks like he might be staying, but have no fear, I'm sure that after the first few minutes of whatever movie you've picked out that he'll leave. What did you get anyway?" Angelina asked as she led Kat and Charlotte back into the living room.

"Uh, I got a couple, wasn't sure what you both fancied watching. I got the Bourne Identity, Return of the King and Romeo and Juliet, in case you both fancied something a bit different."

Kat gave a slight laugh. "There's a guy called Montague in that isn't there?"

"Yeah, but probably less annoying than the one sitting on my couch." Angelina told them.

"Stick a movie in dvd player then Char, and I'll grab the cushions and cover's. Food and drink is already out on the table. Angelina...why don't you go keep Montague quiet and out of our way, the last time me and Char meet him properly was at the club and we didn't exactly hit it off did we? But if he wants any more photo's-"

"I'm to say no." Angelina finished for her.

"I thought Gryffindor's were supposed to be brave!" Kat teased.

"Supposed to be yes." Montague drawled. "But they have such semimetal values, isn't that right?"

"Montague..." Angelina warned.

He carried on, "And morals! Isn't that right Angelina?"

"Bags the arm chair!" Charlotte called as she passed the mounting argument between her hostess and 'Montague'.

"That means I'm on the floor then does it?" Kat pouted.

"Don't be silly, there's plenty of room on the couch." Angelina told her.

Kat shook her head, "No, you and Montague spread your self's out. I'll be comfortable enough."

"Isn't that self sacrificing gesture so Hufflepuff?"

"Shut up Montague!" Angelina growled. "Move you legs please...no not back onto the coffee table...I just asked you to move your legs Montague, not to lift them and then put them back to where they originally were!"

"You don't want them on the coffee table! You don't want them on the couch! Were would you like me to put them?" He enquired politely.

"On the floor!" Angelina said in annoyance.

"I don't want to put them on the floor." He answered simply.

"Than at least take your shoes OFF!"

"You do it if you want them off, I don't." Montague told her stubbornly.

"Fine them." Angelina hissed. Tugging sharply on the laces, she yanked off the expensively tailored Italian shoes, and resisted the urge to pelt him with them. Instead she tossed them onto the floor by the coffee table.

"Here you go." Kat told her, tossing a blanket in her general direction.

"Thanks."

"Right everybody sitting comfortably?" Charlotte called out switching off the main light's so they were sitting in darkness.

"What are we watching?" Kat asked as she rustled the blanket's making herself more comfortable, watching as Charlotte skipped the adverts before starting the movie.

"Romeo and Juliet." The laughter in Charlotte's voice unmistakeable.

"Montague, can you please move you legs." Angelina whispered as the introduction began. "Montague?"

"For Salazar's sake, shut up!" Montague snapped, leaning up, and yanking her down on top of him. He shifted slightly underneath her as they lay length ways on the couch, his upper back against the arms rest. The lower half of her body lay between his legs, and she stiffened when he hooked one of his legs over her own, holding her in place.

She arched into him in surprise as one of his hands crept underneath her top, and rested on her lower back, she wriggled slightly, trying to get more comfortable, and tucked her head up underneath his chin in her attempt to do so.

"Keep this up and the night with your friends will be ending earlier than you think Johnson." He murmured in her ear.

Her muscle's tensed as she listened to what he said. "Bastard."

"Whore." He replied.

"Night guys!" Angelina called from her doorstep. She waved, watching them climb into their respective vehicles. "Drive safely." With a sigh she watched them drive away down the street and turned away, walking back up to her flat.

Pulling the locks into place behind her, Angelina walked over to the couch and coffee table where she started gathering all the wine glassed and napkins, taking them into the kitchen so she could wash up and dispose of the rubbish.

She jumped when she felt him kiss the base of her neck, felt him smile against the skin at her reaction, his hands trailed down her arms, and removed the items out of them.

"From one kind of work to another." He mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. "What say we move this into the bedroom? Unless you'd like me to screw you over the kitchen counter?"

Angelina didn't say anything. What was there to say? She was trapped. There was no way out, was there? Who could she go to? With these thoughts spinning around her head, she allowed herself to be led away.

----------------------

She awoke naked in her bed the next morning alone. A gold chain with a green emerald the size of her thumbnail hung low between her breasts and a tattoo of a snake wrapped around a sword at the base of her spine. She only noticed the necklace.

-----------------------

A/N: Well, here's the next chapter, thankyou to all my reviewer's once agins you have all been very helpful. Keep up the good work and let me know what you think of this chapter and whether or not Montague's getting soft, I'm not sure if I expected more of a reaction from him when having to put up with Kat and Charlotte, but then i can't help thinking that he doesn't really think them worthy of his attention, and he's found a more valuable toy in Josh.


	10. Chapter 9

Response to reviews:

Evilevergreen: The necklace will come into play soon, but for the minute both the tattoo and the necklace remain partly a mystery, (to Angelina and you!) Must say though you jumped ahead of me when you asked about Angelina being given the tattoo on the couch as I hadn't thought of that. Thankyou anyhow for the French fries and giving me a kick up the butt! I'd the chapter in two part's, but I lost the first part because the computer was being difficult and the copy I'd made wouldn't load...I know no excuse I should have carried on and rewritten the part I'd lost! So a BIG thankyou!

Digital Tempest:Wow, I love the way you describe Montague because you've got him and Angelina's relationship down to a T! That's always good to see because I know then that they're relationship is coming across to you the way I want it too! Thankyou for your review, I hoipe that you enjoy this next chapter, because after this I think it might get a little darker...

Cupiditatis: It's nice to hear that the story is still intresting, and isn't starrting to go stale, bacuse I hate it when I'm reading something that startts out brilliantly, but then I lose interest through the story line as it progresses. The relationship between Montague and Fred will change as the story contiues, but who know's in what direction?!

Enchated Flower: She only notice's the necklace at the moment because the tattoo isn't relevant yet, but it soon will be so stay tuned and thankyou for your review!

WriterLady1031: The issue's of 'who own's who' will no doubt be the cause of many more arguments! Angelina's acceptance is going to be a bug issue as well, and maybe the tables will be turning on Montague! Thankyou for all your help, and I hope that you like te latest chapter!

LiLi-lUlAbYe13:A new reader! Always pleasing to see! Montague is an ass isn't he?! Thankyou for your many reviews as they are always helpful and entertaining! Glad that you're lovin' it! Thankyou for the compliments! I'm chuffed that I'm one of your fave authors! Hope that you stay with us and enjoy the latest chapter. Thanks for your reviews on my other stories as well!

Ashliegh: Montague getting worse?! LOL! Yeah I suppose he is! I suppose he's some-what of a man's man isn't he? Here's the update at last, sorry it's so late!

Rebecca: Thanks for reading and reviewing! Let me know what you think of the latest update!

angelface04: LOL! Thanks for the review, but make sure you don't hurt yourself too much, wouldn't want to knock yourself out and miss the lastest update would you?!

Britley Britterz: Thanks for reviewing, even if you are a die hard Fred/Angelina fan. It's good to hear that you can see the possiblities of a Angelina/Montague fic though! There'll be more juicey scene's coming up though between Fred, Angelina, Montague and Hermione yet though!

* * *

Awaking to an empty home, had never caused much particular pain Angelina before. It had happened many times in the past, and she believed that it was likely to happen many more times yet in the future.

But it hurt this morning. Hurt more this morning than she could ever remember it hurting before. Maybe it was the old romantic notions of waking up every morning to someone that you loved. Yes, maybe that was what it was.

It hurt to wake up naked, your body aching pleasantly and still tingling at the thought of what you'd done the previous night. The bed sheet's were cool and crisp against her skin. The colour of her skin and hair a stark contrast against the pure blinding white of her sheets.

It hurt to wake up alone and know that you had been used, that you might be able to fool yourself during the night but not the day.

It was by shifting in bed that Angelina managed to dislodge the emerald that hung around her neck, allowing it to roll across her chest.

Disbelief entered her eyes as she stared almost unseeingly at the large stone she held between her thumb and forefinger.

Bile rose up at the back of her throat, so strong that she couldn't force it down, instead it carried on rising, burning away at the tender skin. Breaking free of the bed sheet's and sliding off the mattress, Angelina dashed into the bathroom, the emerald hanging freely around her neck as she heaved the remaining contents of her stomach into the toilet.

Was she to be paid now?

Was it not enough that he had humiliated her? Disgraced her?

But she was to be paid now?

She spat the bitter tasting saliva out of her mouth, and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand.

Standing, she staggered over to the sink, and turned the cold water taps on. Rinsing out her mouth, she splashed the cold water on to her face, and allowed it to drip off as she braced herself against the sink. A dead weight settled itself into her stomach, and the feeling did nothing to comfort her.

God. She was in so deep. So deep.

Far to deep. Angelina admitted to herself. How was she supposed to compete with someone like Montague?

They'd fought on the quidditch pitch. But what was that? A game. Just like the rivalry they were playing at then.

This was war. This included other people rather than just the two of them.

What to do?

What should she do?

Talking to someone would be preferable. Angelina snorted at herself. Yeah, because there were so many people available to talk to.

Her family, and Charlotte were out of the question. They knew little of the wizarding world, and it's current situation. Her father might be a wizard, but how could she talk to him about Montague?

To talk to him would be selfish, he had enough to worry about, the threat of Voldemort attacking his family once again. They'd survived last time, but Angelina's mother had not, and if she was honest she didn't think her father could cope if he lost another member of his family to Voldemort.

Who else was there?

Her wizarding friends? Friends that she kept in contact with by dutifully writing letters twice a year at birthdays and Christmases? She had lost many of her friends when she had lost Fred. Lost contact with half of the, lost faith with the rest.

No, she wouldn't run back to Fred either. Her pride wouldn't allow it. 'Pride,' she mused, 'Was one thing free to man or woman, and yet the most costly thing to keep.'

Going to any of teacher's was the same as going to Fred. They'd be disappointed, they'd judge her, and they wouldn't see her as they previously had. She'd be jaded in their eye's now for what she had done.

She stared hopelessly into her own forlorn eyes in the mirror, and with a vicious anger, reached up and tried to snap off the necklace. She gave another, harder tug, and yet still the necklace remained around her neck, and not broken in her hand. The skin where the chain had dug into it had broken though, and small patches of blood welled up along the thin line.

Anger mounting, she reached up and around her neck, along the gold chain searching for the clasp that would release the chain. There wasn't one. So she lifted the chain up around her head, intending to lift it up and off if the chain woudn't snap or undo.

But it shrunk, shrunk so small that the chain wouldn't even lift over her ear's. Why had she expected anything from Montague?

If it wouldn't snap then she had no chance of cutting it off, no clasp and it shrunk when she tried to lift it off, looking at the chain now again in the mirror, it was back to it's original size. She doubted she'd be able to melt it off either.

It was a dog chain.

He'd put a bloody dog chain around her neck.

A harsh, bitter laugh escaped her. Poetical wasn't it?

Poetical with a slytherin twist mind you.

He'd put a collar on his bitch.

* * *

It was pure pandemonium once again in the Order's meeting room, and once again it was over Montague. Not even the shrieking of Sirius's mother caused them to pay any attention to his arrival. 

An air of satisfaction hung heavy around Montague as he watched the scene before him, and the chaos that he had caused as he moved into the room, pausing on the threshold.

Dumbledore, Snape, McGonagall, Arthur and Molly Weasley, Lupin, and a couple of other Auror's where tucked away in the corner, their disappearance not paid attention to by any of the younger member's apart from Nott perhaps, who kept glancing over at them.

Meanwhile the Weasley twins, and the golden trio stood around the main table shouting various arguments at each other, while Nott reclined in his chair, watching the drama unfold, occasionally adding something provoking before falling silent again.

"I don't understand how he's just disappeared!" Fred bellowed.

"Maybe Granger didn't cast the spell correctly." Said Nott.

"Of course I cast the spell correctly!" Hermione shrieked. "It was working right up to half an hour ago when he disappeared off the radar-"

"Radar?"

Hermione moaned, "A radar Ron. It's a muggle thing. But my point is that he can't just disappear like that!"

"Of course he can bloody well disappear off this 'radar' he's just gone and done it hasn't he?"

"Can't we try the spell again? What about another locating spell?" Harry asked, frustration in his voice.

"I could have told you this was going to happen!" Fred was now crowing. "He's a traitor! Gone running back to his dark lord! No doubt he's a bloody spy, and has been using us for information! Hell, Angelina's probably his accomplice, and it's her way of getting back at you and me 'mione. That's why he chose her!"

"Isn't that a little over dramatic Weasley?" Nott asked.

"No it isn't! Your probably a double crossing spy as well! What else can we expect from Slytherin's?"

"Or rather, the question is, what can we expect from Gryffindor's?" Montague asked, strolling further into the room, allowing everyone to see him.

"I'm sure I know this..." Nott mused, rubbing his chin.

"You double crossing bastard! How can you do this is Angie? How? What has she ever done to you?" Fred exploded.

Montague looked momentairily confused. "But, I thought you just accused her of being my accomplice? If she's my accomplice I wouldn't need to do anything to her would I?"

Nott clicked his tongue in mock annoyance, as if the answer to Montague's theoretical question had come to late. "Ah! There it is! Weasley's accusation's just proved it..."

Sliding into a vacant chair, Montague agreed with his fellow slytherin. "Indeed. Weasley has supplied the answers to my question. Stupidity, rash conclusion's, annoying hero complexities, and as for the question, 'What has she ever done to you?' would you like a detailed list? Or should I leave it up to your imagination, and have the mudblood explain it to you later when you're still none the wiser?"

"Put a can on it Montague." George snapped, "Angelina is our friend-"

"Was." Montague corrected softly.

"What?" questioned Fred.

"Weasley twin number two was incorrect in his statement. He referred to Angelina as currently being his friend, as in now, the present,' Montague elaborated. "But since your little- or rather large indiscretion, as one can't really describe it as being little when the girlfriend finds out about the whore-"

"Montague." Dumbledore warned him, a steely glint in his eye, his tone condemning the continuation of such talk as the older member's of the order made their way over.

"Very well _Headmaster_." Montague sneered, his tone mocking. He paused for a minute, "Where was I?"

"Insulting the mudblood." Nott commented.

"You would do well not to speak of Miss Granger as such!" Dumbledore boomed.

"Relax. Here have a lemon drop." Montague smirked, and tossed Dumbledore a lemon drop, newly transfigured. "It's a nickname, she even answers to it." He gave a sharp whistle. "Mudblood!"

Hermione's head shot up as she glared at Montague, who smirked at her response. Snickering as she tried to calm down her boyfriend. "Good doggie! Or should I say bitch?"

"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, her voice rising as she carried on. "We are here for a meeting of the Order! Not to fling insult's back and forth at each other and see who can become the most bawdy!" She finished, openly scolding Montague.

With a roll of his eyes, Montague only shifted, finding a more comfortable position in his chair. "Well said Minevera." He replied. "But as you so helpfully pointed out to us, this meeting was called for a reason, so can we get to it?"

"A wise decision Mr Montague." McGonagall agreed frostily, unnerved by the use of her first name by a former student. "This meeting is due to your behaviour."

"I am honoured. But with regard to my behaviour, could you perhaps be a little more specific, your mind might not be as bright as it once was, so if you just give me the general time, or indeed, the generalities of the incident, I shall be happy to narrow it down for you."

Mcgonagall bristled at the impertinence of Montague, that was twice! Twice he had embarrassed her in front of the order! "You over step the mark Montague!" She warned him.

"Indeed? Do I?" He asked as if amazed by such revelations, he frowned suddenly. "Which mark would that be? At this precise moment I can see none, are you sure you are not becoming confused with the edge of the table, as I assure you, I am well behind it. Perhaps you need some new glasses?"

"Enough Montague." Snape said wearily. "There are important reason's for this meeting. No longer can we sit back and watch the verbal baiting which you excel at."

Tipping head slightly towards his previous head of house, Montague signalled his aquisnace.

"I assume that you have seen the pictures in the Daily Prophet?" Snape asked, already knowing the answer to his question, but asking it for the benefit of the order. The rising of Montague's eyebrow made it clear that he had, and what did it matter?

"The publishing of the pictures means that Miss Johnson has been put into the public spotlight. I am sure that you understand what this means? That fact that you have both been photographed together, in a more that friendly fashion."

"Of course."

"Then why did you not do something?" Tonks asked, exasperated. "I'm sure you have connections at the Daily Prophet! You have everywhere else."

"You are quite right Andromeda. I do have contact's at the Daily Prophet."

"What do they have to gain by printing these pictures then?!" She exclaimed.

"Nothing. They gain nothing. I on the other hand do."

"You told them to print picture's of you and Angie?" George asked in disbelief.

"I picked the photo's of Miss Johnson and myself, and then told the Prophet to print them." Montague corrected him.

"Then we clearly have nothing to worry about." Snape concluded. "Are there any other points of business Dumbledore?"

"A few."

"Would it be possible for myself and the other death eater's to slip away, there are some issues that need discussing."

"Of course Severus." Dumbledore replied, looking slightly relieved at the idea of having Montague vacant for the rest of the meeting.

* * *

"Do you have any idea of what you are doing Montague?" Snape snapped, slamming his palm down on the table standing next to him, causing it's legs to shake a few quills of roll off it even surface and fall onto the floor. The were then crushed underfoot as Snape began to pace. 

Montague answered back as ever with impeccable calmness, "Of course."

"Death eaters are talking Montague." Nott reminded him. The eyes that had been alight with mirth earlier on in the evening were now dark and serious as he contemplated the sanity of his fellow spy.

"Death eater's always talk." Montague growled irritably. He strode across to the other side of the room, and opened the sideboard, drawing out several glasses and a full bottle of firewhiskey that he intended to have empty by morning.

"Rumour's are flying around. As per usual. There is speculation because I haven't yet introduced my new whore at court, and they don't yet realise that I seem to have found one. It's rather laughable really," he continued, slamming a shot of the firewhiskey back down his throat, "because I could have anyone that I really wanted-"

"Then why didn't you?" Snape drawled.

"Rather a senseless question isn't it Severus?" Montague drawled.

"Because you don't want any of them. Yes. We understand that. But why the hell Johnson Montague?" Nott asked.

Giving a long suffering sigh, and tipping back another shot of whiskey, he answered. "Because her situation."

"What situation? She doesn't have a situation!"

"No true." Nott smirked. "She does now."

"Yes Sev, she does." Montague countered. "Think about what I have done, and think about her situation very carefully, and then think about Weasley and Granger's situation very carefully. Think very, very clearly, and very, very carefully."

"She has no links to the Voldemort."

"Indeed."

"And how again is that a good thing?" Nott drawled as he reclined in his chair, swirling his whiskey around in his glass absent mindedley.

"No connection's to the Voldemort, and being seen with me, will confuse people."

"It'll put you in a good light." Nott clarified. "She's pureblood, but her blood is tainted by muggles and mudblood's. Those that cast you a death eater won't be so sure, the ministry will hold you above suspicion if your seen out and about with her, and because of that fewer surprise raids..."

"And their attention will focus more on the likes of Flint, Malfoy and so and so forth..." Montague trailed off, but carried on waving his hand in the air for emphasis.

"That's all very well regarding the view's of the general public and the fools at the ministry Montague. But it won't do anything for your standing among the death eater's." Snape pointed out.

"How?"

"How?" Snape echoed in disbelief. "She was in Gryffindor. She has connections with the Weasley's, who in turn have connections to Potter and Dumbledore and the entire Order. She also happen's to have been friends with Potter. She's tainted by mudbloods and muggles. She has strong connections to the muggle world. How is any of this good?"

"Oh it's good." Montague replied. "It's very good. But as I comprehend the fact that you're still not thinking carefully, or clearly, I'll explain it to you."

"Oh, don't put yourself out Montague." Snape drawled sarcastically.

"Not at all." Pouring another whiskey into his glass, he stared at the amber liquid, trying to capture his thoughts, and prepared what he was going to say, and how he was going to present it. Couldn't really come out with the fact that he'd picked Angelina Johnson merely on the basis that she was damn hot, he wanted to fuck her more than Bell, his desire to get one over on Weasley, his need for revenge because of the quidditch cup that she had caused him to lose all those years ago, and the fact that he wanted to dominate her. Wanted the satisfaction of having her bend to him, bend to his desire's and his whims and loving it, and hating him every minute for it. He wanted that passion, that fire that she hid behind that cool, calm façade that she wore from a mask.

He wasn't blind either. He'd achieved many of these objectives. He'd sleep with her, conquered her in a way that she'd never been conquered before. Made her bend to him. He'd thrown his relationship with her in Weasley's face as well. He'd had that passion from her as well. That fire had been directed at him, both in the bedroom and out of it. He'd had his revenge on her, and a humiliating one it had been.

But he'd also seen her in a different light. He'd couldn't ignore the similarities between them either. They both wore cool, calm masks, hiding their true emotions. Although he liked to reflect, he was better at it. While he had been doing it ever since he was a child, she'd only started it in the last few year's, probably when her relationship with Weasley ended badly. It was nice, the fact that only he was able to break through the wall that she had erected around herself. Only he could ever get a rise out of her quite like he did.

He was also aware that they both were alone, once again, both out of choice, but because of different circumstances. He because he was a slytherin, because you looked after yourself first and foremost. She because of the hurt she'd been caused and out of fear that she could be made to feel that again.

They also dealt with it differently. He liked the danger of being a spy, the thrill, the adrenaline it gave him as he played two side's off against the other. But she had buried herself with friends, family and work, everything but love.

He probably should let her go before she addled his brain beyond use and sensible thinking. But he wasn't ready to let her go yet. She was _his_. She was his until he decided otherwise.

Downing his drink quickly, he felt the alcohol burn a path down his throat, deep into the pit of his stomach, and imagined how the conversation could go if he explained all of his reasons, the motivation he was feeling the theories he'd come up with.

_"Anyone who does any research into her background, will undoubtedly find out that she was involved in Fred Weasley. But they will also find out that she has only recently returned to this country recently. _

_Why? One may ask. _

_Why had she been out of the country for so long? Why has it appeared that she no longer has any contact with many of her school friends? No contact with Weasley? With Potter? _

_One doesn't have to dig very deep to find out that her relationship with Weasley ended badly. Now for many death eater's this could turn either way. Is she looking to get inside the inner death eater's circle as a spy, or is she looking to get revenge on a straying lover? _

_If she had been introduced by herself, no doubt many would think the former, however she is being pulled into the death eater circles as a whore, pulled in by a fellow death eater, who would do nothing to weaken his Lord and Master." He sneered mockingly. "And, she doesn't seem to be doing it willingly. From what is known about her, she would never be seen with a guy like me, not to mention the fact that we were school rivals, on and off the pitch. _

_The claims of muggle ties only helps to strengthen that theory. The pictures were to prove a point, that I am responsible for her."_

"_That's all very well and good Montague, but what are you going to say when you're questioned about the fact that your new whore has muggle connections. That she lives among them!" Snape would bite out._

"_I am simply going to say that physical torture has lost it's appeal, and that I want to see what damage psychological torture and fear can do. In other words, how far a person, namely Miss Johnson, is willing to go to protect the ones she loves?"_

"_You better hope," Nott would warn him quietly, "That they don't decide to find out how far you will go to protect what's your's."_

No, maybe he shouldn't say that. It was indepth and emotional. He wasn't indepth or emotionl.

Snape's patience had run out, and he allowed his anger to run it's full course. "You're playing a dangerous game Montague. If we can't see the connections that seem so obvious to you, do you think that the other death eater's are going to sit around and ponder your new play toy and the motives you have behind using her."

Standing abruptly Montague felt his infamous self control slipping. "Then don't! Do not become involved and watch this latest game of mine play out from the sidelines! Do not stand there and lecture me on things that you do not even understand."

"How can I understand such things if you will not explain them! I'm not a bloody mind reader!"

"Bollocks Severus! Bollocks! You think I don't know?" His eyes flashed as Montague viewed his former potions master. "I haven't explained certain things to you because you don't need to know. The less you know the safer you are. You don't need to know therefore you don't!"

Snape's voice was hard and cold as he regarded the headstrong young man in front of him. "Maybe you can't tell me Montague what the hell is going on because you don't know! Because you're latest whore has addled your brains!"

"Watch how you speak of her Snape." Montague hissed at him. "She is my property and any disrespect you inflict on her you inflict on me." His voice slithered around the room, expelling any warmth from it. "I give this advice freely. Stay away from her." The ring on his finger began to heat up, and Montague frowned at it before turning his attention back to his two colleagues.

"I am required elsewhere. I trust all business has been resolved?" Without waiting for an answer he apparated away.

"She will be his downfall." Snape murmured pessimistically.

Nott said nothing, remaining silent and unmoving, instead turning his troubled eyes towards the fire and watched it devour all that was in it's path.

* * *

A/N: I know it's over a month since my last update as Evilevergreen reminded me! But I hope this chapter makes up for it. Let me know what you think, because I think the chinks in Montague's armour are starting to show!


	11. Chapter 10

A/N: A big thankyou to _**WriterLady1031**_ for being my beta and all the help and advvice that she has given to me for this chapter, because it is an odd one! Sorry to all for keeping you waiting, please try to stick with me!

_Britley Britterz_: Thanks for the encouragement!

_Chocolatebrowneyes:_ Welcome to the story! But you'll have to keep reading to find out what happen's!

_cupiditatis:_ Hopefully this chapter will explain more to you!

_bana05:_ You'll be seeing more of Charlotte and Kat in the later chapter's, so I'll try and put in a physical description,originally I wasn't planning on focusing on them toomuch, but plot bunnies have changed that!

_Evilevergreen_: All will be explained in the next few chapter's before I torment you some more!

_Digital Tempest_: The fact that Montague defends Angelina's show's that he really believe's that she is his, very slytherin of him I think. Your right about Fred though! But he's fun to write because I can 'toy' with him! I can manipulate him for the use of the chapter, or the reaction's of other character's!

_angelface04:_ Your right, he's digging himself deeper and deeper and at this rate is going to need help when he hit's rock bottom...which could be pretty soon at the rate he's going!

_Rebecca:_ Glad that your enjoying rhe story, I hope like the latest chapter!

_elektra12:_ The confrontation was fun to write! I'm pleased that you liked the results!

_Cassie_: Here's the update! Sorry it's been awhile!

_Xia Rain_: Thanks for your comment's, hope this chapter keep's you entertained!

* * *

**_Chapter 10_**

The answer, when it finally hit her, caused Angelina to curse at herself for being too stupid as to not think of it before.

In less than fifteen minutes she was out of the shower, dressed, packed and leaving messages for friends, family and work. She'd rung Emmy, quickly apologizing for having to cancel their plans and expressed her regret at not being able to have Josh that weekend. When asked where she was going, she gave the same answer, telling them it was a last minute work thing and that she'd be back in a few days, depending on how it went of course.

Stopping off at her studio on the way, she gathered a selection of photos and dropped them off at the office, telling her agent that she was going out of town for a few days and would be unavailable. If there were any problems, Kat had a copy of the studio key and she could hunt through her work if she was in particular need of something.

Finally, praying that she had switched the coffee machine off, Angelina apparated away to the Ministry of Magic.

* * *

Within in seconds of arriving, Angelina could feel the thin layer of sweat beginning to cover her body. The hot sun shone down on her from its place high in the sky, not a cloud in sight as far as the eye could see. 

The vegetation wasn't particularly lush, and the ground beneath her feet was dry and cracked, dust lifting up off its bed before settling back down on her feet; it obviously hadn't rained here for a while.

An occasional squawk filled the air, followed by the fluttering of wings as a bird took off from its perch. Other than that, nothing disturbed the silence or stillness of Angelina's surrounding environment. A quick glance of her surroundings assured Angelina of where she was: she didn't hesitate in casting a spell that allowed her to blend into the environment; any animal that meant to cause her harm would look straight through her, not able to see its prey straight in front if it.

She walked for several hours, traveling over land that was both smooth and flat and uneven and dangerous.

Spitting on the ground, she tried to rid her mouth of the dry dust, and rinsed it out with a mouthful of lukewarm water from her canteen. She followed the path, invisible to everyone and everything but her own eyes, coming to a halt as her eyes met those of another.

The beast was magnificent. Made of strong lines and sleek with muscle which rippled underneath its golden coat, the lioness gazed steadily at her. Both females stood frozen as they regarded the other. The stillness was broken as the lioness blinked lazily at her, a startlingly deep intelligence emanating from those amber irises. Turning, the lioness glanced over her shoulder and moved off with an easy pace, its feet padding softly on the ground and small puffs of dirt rose up from the movement.

With a sigh of relief, Angelina followed, content to keep the same pace as the lioness.

The first sign that she was coming closer to the village was the wooden pole stuck into the earth; tattered pieces of cloth were attached to it and moved in the slight breeze, the strings of beads rattling quietly. Stepping past the talisman, Angelina felt the wards of the village snap into action, quickly calming as they recognized her magic. Soon, the magic of the ancient tribe started to meld with her own, soothing her soul and mind.

"Greetings, Angelina."

"Greetings, Wise One."

"You have returned to us as I foretold." The old woman was small, shrunken with age, but it did not diminish her power. Despite the worn appearance of her body, her voice was strong and sure. There was no hesitation in her words or in her answers. "You come with questions."

Angelina nodded. "I come with questions."

"Come," the old woman motioned her forward. "First we eat, and then we talk of questions and answers."

* * *

The fire crackled, the wood splitting and breaking in its heat. Its flickering light casting eerie shadows around the village as members of its tribe danced a dance of celebration. The tribe was an old one, still following the way of their people as it had done for hundreds of years. Their magic was an old one, too. Different from what Angelina had been accustomed to when she had first discovered the ancient village with its ancient people. Each inherited different powers, some possessed skills for healing and others, like Surefoot, were able to take animal form. 

"It is good to see you again, my child." The wise woman told her. "But it troubles me to see your soul in such pain."

Turning her gaze away from the fire and the people dancing, Angelina looked up at the night sky briefly before facing the Wise Woman of the tribe.

"I needed to speak to you," she said simply.

The Wise Woman nodded. "You accepted the deal? Yes, that I knew from the first moment I saw your face."

Angelina flushed in shame, her eyes dropped, unable to meet those of the woman before her.

"Come child," the Wise Woman soothed, as she placed a finger beneath Angelina's chin and tipped her face up so that she could see her eyes. "Is it really so bad?"

"How can you ask that? How can it be good or even respectable? I've sold myself," Angelina whispered in a horrified voice.

"Yes you've sold yourself, but look at what you're getting in return." The Wise Woman replied and then told her, "Safety. Claimed you as his own he has, in the old way."

"Claimed me?" Angelina asked in confusion. "He hasn't claimed me."

"He has," the Wise Woman insisted. "None but him can touch you now. Sometimes, there is safety in the eye of the storm."

"What do you mean he's claimed me? When? How did he?"

"It was not only a necklace that he gave you last night."

"What has he given me?"

"He has marked you as his own." the Wise Woman repeated slowly. "The family crest is placed on your body, for another to touch you now would mean a curse will fall upon them."

"What? Where is this mark?"

"The mark does not matter!" the Wise Woman hissed at her. "Only his claim on you and the significance of it matters. War is here, child! Nothing you do or say will change that! What did I say to you last time you were here? What did I tell you?"

Her heart thumped rapidly in her chest, her lungs felt tight, unable to take in any air. "You told me...you told me that… that… it is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver and that 'Politics have no relation to morals.' You quoted Machiavelli." Angelina said softly, realization in her voice. "You were telling me what was going to happen. What I should do."

"Yes, I was trying to warn you. Do you understand what I am trying to tell you now?"

"That I am caught up in a game, a political one. You are telling me to deceive Montague, as he is deceiving me; that the safety of my family was a leveraging tool that he used against me. He wants to use me for something else because what could he gain out of me otherwise?"

"You are correct, child. He is using you. You knew that before you came here. But you didn't know why. You still don't, but you are aware that now there is more going on than what meets the eye."

"So what do I do?" Angelina asked helplessly.

"You do what you must. Your safety lies with him; as long as you are in his power he will do everything in his power to make sure that you are safe. All men are like animals, child. Whether they are alpha or beta, they still have the characteristics of animals. Like the weasel, he will want you because someone else has you. It is always about the hunt, the chase and the challenge because they feel the need to be superior to you; to know that they have caught you despite any efforts you made to get away. It makes them feel powerful because they think that they have outsmarted us! They do not care to think that that we let them catch us." The Wise Woman laughed surprising Angelina and causing her to smile crookedly.

"I know it hurts your modern perspective to think that a woman has to go to a man for safety, but you are aware of how little the wizarding world has changed over the last few centuries, are you not? There is a vast difference between the two communities, muggle and wizard."

"There are many differences." Angelina conceded.

"You are a strong woman, Angelina. You will get through this." The Wise Woman told her softly. "But because you are strong, you will need a strong mate who is not afraid of the challenges that you present. The weasel was a beta that didn't have the strength of character that you need in a mate. And yet, the one that has claimed you is strong; he would not have been able to claim you if he was not. He has not broken you, maybe he has bent you to his will occasionally, but you test him just as much as he tests you. He can challenge you; he can be your equal in all the ways that you need one. You need a strong partner, Angelina. For that reason, I do not think that this claim he has on you is entirely bad."

Angelina's forehead was creased in thought. "But I didn't present any challenges to Fred," she mumbled to herself.

"Didn't you? You loved him Angelina, and he loved you, but you didn't need him as he wanted you to. His new girlfriend, what is she like?"

"Smart, pretty, best friends with his brother and Harry Potter, very dedicated to them."

"He sees his mother in her. In the way she mothers and nags and worries. He does not fear being left behind by her."

Angelina sighed. The pain from her relationship with Fred had long ago started to disappear, but she still felt embarrassment when she thought of the ending of their relationship. Nothing good had come from her relationship with him apart from a chance meeting with the tribe that had accepted her, taught her and guided her when she was in most need of their help. "I just feel…I don't know, inadequate I suppose, that I was unable to keep hold of a boyfriend. I know about the kind of rumors that get around and it's always the woman's fault if the male strays, that she must be doing something wrong…"

"It is not your fault that he was insecure; that he is more a weasel that a man."

The fire had died down, as nothing more than glowing embers remained now, red hot in their heat. There was a slight breeze drifting through the camp and with a start, Angelina noticed that the dancers had finished and retired for the night with the rest of the villagers.

"It is probably best if you left now," the Wise Woman told Angelina. "He is worried about you. Don't be hard on him when you arrive home, as he doesn't mean to be angry, but his anger is often caused by worry; a feeling which makes him angry, an emotion that he'll take out on you. It is not intentional, you must understand that."

"He's angry?" Angelina asked in confusion.

"He shall not hurt you, but it is best that you don't aggravate him further. His anger is directed at himself as he does not like feeling helpless." The Wise Woman smiled gently at Angelina and said, "Go, he is waiting for you."

* * *

The flat was silent as she opened the door, her keys jingling gently, the grating of the metal inside the lock sounding abnormally loud. 

It looked the same as when she had left it that morning, yet completely different. The refrigerator hummed quietly in the kitchen, there was the occasional rumble of a car outside the window, and the phone was flashing at her telling her that she had another message. Although, there was a soft glow cast from one of the lamps that she didn't remember having turned on…

A soft thud signified that she had dropped her bag on the floor in the hallway, followed by the muffled sound of her feet against the floor as she crept towards the light.

She stopped short at the sight of seeing Montague in her living room with his feet stretched out in front of his body, his heels resting on the coffee table; his body blending into the chair in which he sat.

The light and shadow flickered across pale skin, highlighting the hard lines of his face. It created a ghoulish effect of angular lines and planes; the pursed curves of his lips and the heavy frown that had settled on his brow reflected menacingly. His eyes appeared black and sunken into his skull, yet she could see the intense emotions that existed there, even if she was not yet able to understand them.

Slowly and silently, Angelina moved across the room and took the vacant seat opposite him, curling her legs up underneath her body. And there they sat, in near darkness, each waiting for the other to make the first move.


	12. Chapter 11

_A/N: A big thankyou to my brilliant beta __WriterLady1031__ for all her work. A huge thankyou to _Digital Tempest, angelface04, Evilevergreen, Mercurian Orchid, Shea LaRoc, gitsRus, Absolutely-Fuzz, Enchated Flower, loneangel, Quiddie15, Ashliegh and PeachyKay. Thanks for all your review's and encouragement.

**_Chapter 11_**

_He disliked her home. Not because it made him feel guilty or caused remorse at what he was doing to its owner, but because her home was a home. It looked lived in which was nothing like his own: the knick-knacks and objects of sentimentality, the framed pictures on the wall, and the drawings from Josh on the fridge increased the uncomfortable feelings. Her home had a personality, one that she had stamped her mark on in the few years she had been there._

_That's not to say that his houses didn't have personality, because they did. Only it was a grand personality, a style of splendor. Hell, in his houses, a single piece of its artwork could buy her pathetic possessions and flat several times over. His houses were nicer too; stately. The vine yard in France was always hot and sunny, there was the town house in London, the family manor in Derbyshire, the small estate in Cornwall built by the sea, and the small cottage tucked away into the French countryside—his own little secret. _

_He shrugged the thoughts aside as he carried on further into the flat, taking note of anything unusual. The heat from his ring had cooled now, as had the intense emotion that flowed had into his body. The disgust, anger and shame had disappeared as well. It was briefly followed by restlessness and despair, and then he'd been aware of realization and spurt of relief. But those emotions had faded now; he couldn't feel anything. There'd been peace and then... nothing. _

_But, he should be able to feel something! That was the point of the ring and the necklace! It had belonged to his father, and his father before him, and his father before him! They were featured in every portrait of his ancestors! It was not designed to stop working as it aged, but to grow stronger!_

_So why wasn't it working?_

_----------------------------_

"Do you take me for a fool?" He spoke first, his softly spoken question shattering the silence that lay between them. The question, however, didn't cut through the tension that filled the room; instead it only increased, reaching another level as she remained silent.

_----------------------------_

_She'd forgotten how cold it could get in the evening. Her skin was covered in goose bumps, but it was her own fault for not remembering to bring a coat. Fumbling around for her wand, she pulled it out ready to cast a warming charm once she was out of the magical barriers that surrounded the village._

_She was not permitted to do any magic within their bounds, as was the way for all strangers. The talisman was in her sight now, the beads clinking softly as the red cloth flapped slightly in the breeze. She carried on walking, mindful of the various plants and the animals that inhabited them. It was dangerous to get close to things that you knew nothing about in this place. Magic could only do so much to help you._

_Stopping, she turned to her companion. Smiling slightly, she bent her head in the lioness's direction showing her thanks; it was the same guide that had escorted her there at the break of day. The lioness inclined her head towards Angelina, signaling her acceptance. The golden eyes didn't waver from Angelina's form. Instead, they continued to regard her silently, watching as her human food moved out of the village border and in to the wilderness. _

_The pendant flared to life as she passed out of the village grounds. The emerald stone heating up against her chest was hot enough to burn yet not a mark did it make upon the sensitive skin. Her hand came up and curled around the pendant—Angelina gasped, feeling the emotions that made __themselves__ known. Anger, first and foremost, nearly blocking out the few other emotions that existed. The anger was laced with worry, and a touch of perverse amusement. __Montague.__ It seemed wrong somehow; wrong that she should be-able to sense him so intimately. _

_He was waiting for her the Wise Woman had told her. She shouldn't like the fact that he was waiting for her…and yet… she liked the fact that someone was worried over her because she'd forgotten how that felt. Her family cared because they were her family. But it was special when someone that wasn't related to you cared, because it meant that they felt something for you, even if they didn't say it or act like it. _

_The warming charm forgotten, she carried on with her journey. _

_A sharp pop streamed through the night, mingling with the calls of the animals and the rustle of leaves and grass. _

_Angelina had gone, but the lioness remained watchful for a few minutes before turning away and heading back towards the camp._

_----------------------------_

"I asked you a question, Angelina," he told her, the quiet volume of his voice not disguising the ice behind those words, "and I want an answer." There was no softness in his voice, no warmth to soften the blow. "Do you take me for a fool?"

The silence stretched before them, a gaping void that needed to be filled, with anything, with everything.

How could she play at his game when she didn't know the rules? She needed rules! The Wise Woman told her to deceive him, but how? Did she deceive him into thinking she loved him? That she hated him? That she was sorry for disappearing off and not telling him where she had gone?

"No," she replied at last, her voice cracking. There was a lump in her throat, and it was difficult to force the word out, the effort causing her eyes to sting. "I don't take you for a fool."

"Yet you act like I am a fool," he hissed at her.

The fear that had been in the pit of Angelina's belly rose up, turned to anger and spewed out of her mouth. "And you act like I am your property and yet I am not!" She argued fiercely.

"Yes you are! Do you wish for me to beat it into your head?"

"It wouldn't make any difference! Just because you say that I belong to you doesn't make it so!"

"I don't just say it! It's true, Angelina."

"Why? Just because _you_ said it's so? Is it just because you've marked me? Or that you think you've claimed me?" Angelina shrieked at him, her anger overwhelming her. "Is that the only way you can get a woman Montague, by blackmailing her into submission?"

His body stiffened immediately at that. His eyes narrowed in anger, his whole body snapped to attention, and he stood in front of her, bending over the chair she remained in. Instinctively she moved back, away from him, but still Montague advanced towards her, pursued her. He smirked derisively at her reaction to him. "It makes you feel dirty doesn't it? And you liked it, didn't you, Angelina? You liked being fucked by me, and whether it was hard and fast or slow and gentle, you liked it." Montague eyes flickered over to the table that stood behind them. "I could screw you on the top of your dining table, or bend you over it and fuck you from behind, but either way you'd still like it." His voice was like silk, and Angelina closed her eyes, trying to shut out the pictures that he had conjured up in her mind. Her heart was racing and she gasped at the feel of his arm wrapping around her waist before she was pulled against his body, her eyes snapping open as she tried to get out of his hold.

But Montague knew what she was going to do and maneuver her up against the said dining table. Angelina's body went stiff as the hard wood bit into her lower back, her struggling intensified.

"You're delusional, Montague, if you think that I like being blackmailed, being told that I'm your personal possession, having a collar snapped around my neck and your family crest branded onto my skin!"

The necklace felt as though it was burning a whole into her chest, but she was unable to separate the various emotions that were coursing through the pendant.

The devil seemed to dance in his eyes at the way she was fighting him. "I was wondering when you were going to grow a backbone, so far you've done nothing but lie down and let me fuck you into oblivion."

The claws that were hidden deep inside of her came out to play and like any woman, she could be a bitch when the time called for it. He thought she was his bitch? Well, she would show him what a bitch she could really be.

"You think that you're the only one that gets anything out of this Montague? You think this was a hard decision? Well, news flash: it wasn't! Maybe I was a little pissed off with the fact that you threatened my family, but hey what's that between old enemies? I'll admit it to you straight up, Montague. You're not bad looking, and I have turned into a work alcoholic over the past few years. A few flings here and there, but those things can get messy, you know what I mean?" She shrugged her shoulders as best as she was able while still in his arms. "But this is more convenient—I've been celibate for a while now, hormones build up, and since it's you that I'm currently fucking, I don't have to worry about any 'emotional' attachments, and I mean hey! You're a death eater! What does it matter to me if you get killed? See where I'm going with this, Montague? You're like a 'fuck buddy' only you're not a buddy, just someone that I have sex with every now and again while pretending you're someone else."

His eyes, which were already dark, appeared to turn black at that comment. His mouth was set in a grim line, his lips pressed together almost melting into his skin they were so white. There was a slight flush on his cheek bones, made all the more vivid by his pale skin. Power seemed to crackle around him as he glared down at her.

"Want to know who I've been fantasizing about while you grunted and groaned and spent yourself in my body?" Angelina continued to provoke him, unable to believe what was coming out of her mouth, the language that she was using; the things that she was saying. Was she really saying these things? She asked herself. But still words spilled out of her mouth and she was unable to stop them.

His grip tightened on her body, the arm wrapped around her stomach was slowly squeezing the air out of her body, while the hand that was wrapped around her wrists turned the skin pale and she knew without a doubt that there would be bruised there tomorrow. It was the rage in his eyes that made her realize something. The Wise Woman had told her to deceive him—that was what she was doing wasn't it? She was playing on his emotions, deceiving what she really felt and hurting his "masculine pride" while she was at it. Perhaps it was a little below the belt—she snorted mentally at the thought— however, it wasn't below the belt after what he had- was doing to her! Their whole relationship was below the belt! She could hurt him just as much as he hurt her.

She smirked at the thought.

"Don't you _ever _taunt me with your past lovers, Angelina. _Ever_."

"Why? Jealous that they could fuck me without acting like you do?"

Montague's eyes were alight as they bore into her own. The grip around her body she thought could become no tighter proved her theory wrong, and then suddenly, a shuttered look fell down on his face. His eyes became blank, and while the tightness of his jaw didn't completely disperse as his face wasn't as tense, although there was still a hardness that lingered in the air around him.

Angelina suddenly realized that she didn't like this. She had no idea of what he was thinking, of what he was going to do next. At least before she knew what he had been feeling, even the necklace that hung around her neck had gone suspiciously cold. Only a sense of detachment was emitted from the emerald.

His body relaxed, and he continued to lean against her, the grip around her waist was loosened fractionally, and he let go of her wrists. He tsked at her, frowning slightly as she flinched when his hand came up to stoke her cheek. Then the expression was smoothed off his face with a sigh.

"Why are you trying to make me mad, Angelina?" Montague asked her softly. "Why do you make me react like this? Don't I have a right to be worried because you disappear and don't tell me where you're going? What if something had happened to you? I don't want to hurt you but you make me do it." He paused in his musings, his eyes wandering over her face. "I can be pleasant, you know. I could make this easy for you; I could treat you like a princess instead of a whore if you behave. Don't you want me to be nice to you, Angelina? I realize I might have made things a little bit difficult for you, but haven't I been considerate? Why can't you return that favor? I haven't hurt your family, have I? Do you want me to hurt them? It's not very nice, Angelina, for you to try and get your family killed; because that's what you're doing, isn't it?" His voice was soft, almost soothing, containing a childlike quality as he spoke to her.

Angelina couldn't believe her ears. He was trying to turn this on her? Jesus, he really was a manipulative bastard! She looked at him in disbelief.

"You're fucking mental, Montague! Trying to turn this on me now, make me feel guilty?"

But the former Slytherin carried on as if he hadn't heard her. "I know that I've gone about this the wrong way. I shouldn't have threatened your family, in fact in reflection of that matter; it was damn foolish of me. Kill your family and they're dead. That's it! Over and done with! They might have suffered initially, but in the end they'd be dead, you'd be pissed at me, I wouldn't be able to resurrect them, and I've lost my main bargaining chip. I came here to talk to you about that Angelina, and you were gone. A relationship is nothing without communication and trust. I'm putting myself out here, Angelina, and it seems like it's a one sided relationship at the moment. I'm giving and giving and giving, but you act like you don't have a care in the world. Do you know how that makes me feel, Angelina?"

"I don't give a fuck how you feel! But you know, I do agree with you. You do keep 'giving and giving and giving' and you can take whatever you've given me back! And by that I mean, the headache of you, this necklace and this tattoo you've imprinted on my body! And another thing! Get your head out of your ass, Montague, 'cause these new tactics aren't going to work!" Angelina snarled at him furiously.

There was a small quirk of his lips as she made her last demand, but the stony expression was back on his face so fast that she wondered if it was her imagination playing tricks. Angelina gasped as Montague caught her lips with his. It was soft and gentle, something that she had never expected from him. Tenderness was not something she'd ever thought he would show. He'd been gentle with her before, considerate even. But this kiss was different. How she could not explain, but it felt unlike any kiss he had ever given her before. There was something behind it perhaps? Not just lust. The necklace had flared to life the second his lips had met hers, feeling the desire course through the pendant.

It was the combination of the two, she told herself later that made her respond to the kiss.

His tongue slipped along her bottom lip insistently, and she opened her mouth, allowing Montague what he wanted. She met his tongue with her own, hungrily sucking it further into her mouth. And yet, he pulled away from her, detaching himself entirely from her and stepped out of range, trying to ignore the part of himself that wanted nothing more than to rebel against the action. _Merlin, she was beautiful!_ A light flush on her cheeks, lips swollen and eyes that spoke of passion and that were still slightly glazed from the kiss he had given her.

His mouth curled in a sneer as he forced himself to speak his next words. "Nothing more than a whore," he said in disgust.

Angelina's body straightened as his words hit her, and the pain she felt turned the ring on Montague's hand cold, but he knew that to take back what he had said would be foolish. If any of the death eaters had even a slight suspicion that he felt something for her, anything, she would be dead!

Just because he was a death eater did not mean that he would be able to keep her safe; rather that there were always those in the lower ranks who would try anything to weaken another in the Dark Lord's service so that they could take their place. To be truthful to himself, the fact that she would be considered his whore, could put her in more danger than before simply because of her association with him. The necklace and the Mark of the House of Montague could only protect her so much if they got their hands on her. The necklace enabled him to trace her wherever she went, or it was supposed to anyway, he reminded himself. After all, it wasn't working too well earlier on, was it?

The mark of his family had started out in medieval times as a way to ensure a wife's fidelity, so that there was no doubt over any child that was produced through marriage. The effects of such magic were well known, and over time the mark was used simply as a way to mark what belonged to the Montague House; although, that's not to say that every few centuries some fool thought that they'd found a way to counteract the mark, which resulted in the curse of the man and his family, and the death of the wife (usually murdered by the husband). Simply, the mark would keep any man sane or sensible away from her, for they would not be inclined to rape her when the family mark was upon her skin. She would still be vulnerable to beatings and torture although the extent of the mark's protection was not entirely known for such things. In the past, it was according to the strength of the relationship: the stronger the bond between man and wife, the more power the mark had over such things. But it would be risky indeed, for the death eaters to touch her without knowing the full extent of his relationship with Angelina. He was broken out of his musings by her reply.

"Well that's all I am, isn't it, a whore? Don't you keep telling me that, Montague? Yet when I act like one that isn't good enough for you? I might be a whore but you're a bastard! A murderer! A death eater!"

"Don't talk about things you don't understand, Angelina!" His eyes flashed before returning to their original state, but his warning was harsh.

"Talk about what? Touched a nerve, have I? Don't like hearing about it out loud? Make it a bit too real does it, Montague?" Angelina sneered, her own eyes flashing. "Not able to stomach the things you've done? A murderer! And not even a good one! Get nightmares, do you? Hear their screaming, their pleading? Good! I hope god damns you all the way to hell and all the way back again! You're nothing but an animal! No, a monster!"

"So what if I am a murderer? A monster? A rapist? Is that what you want to hear, Angelina? That every time I killed someone it was with a song in my heart? Do you want to know that it was me that killed Longbottom? That it was a choice between him and me and that I was the one strong enough to survive because I made a decision that others would have been too cowardly to make?"

There was a small vein ticking on his temple, his large hands clenched into fists as he fought to control his rage, but it was his own that was feeding Angelina's, and for all his famed self control, Alexander Montague was unable to reign in his emotions. He had forgotten what it could feel like and only she was able to get to him like this! Others could provoke him, could annoy him, but never to the point that he could lose control. Had she been anyone else, had she been anyone else…

"You're playing with fire! Be quiet Angelina before you make me do something that you'll regret—you and not me!"

"Fire?" Angelina scoffed. "_Fire_? What fire are you talking of, Montague, for you're made of nothing but ice! Better not get too close to this so-called fire Montague, you might melt!"

Her warning was too late, because already had he come to close to the fire within her and with its heat, it had started to melt away some of his defenses, the rational thinking that he held so highly.

"And your family _might_ die if you continue to speak to me as such! You think everything is black and white? Well think again! I'd have thought that your relationship with the Weasel would have shown you that not everything is as it seems to be!"

"Oh, so you're not really a death eater, you're a reformed character who is currently working for Harry bloody Potter and believes in equal rights for muggles and wizards alike! I'm not a blonde, Montague!" She replied scathingly.

"No you're not, but with each word you're speaking to me only proves that you _are_ stupid!" He shot back at her. "Keep running your mouth off like that, Angelina, and you're going to get yourself into a lot of trouble!"

"I'm already in a lot of trouble!" She screamed back at him. The words shocked her more than they did him, for already had he accepted that nothing would be the same again. By claiming her as his own, they were bound together for the rest of their lives, or until he decided to break their bond.

Once again, Angelina would have no say in the matter, for the decision was his and his alone, as it had always been in the house of Montague.

It was also finally dawning on Montague the reason that his forefathers had taken wives from the house of Slytherin. Not only did they know how to behave, but they knew what was expected of them. They would not shout and scream because he had not consulted them on a decision that was none of their concern. They would not make wild accusations. They would not demand that he change. They would not expect his loyalty, only his discretion.

There were many reasons it seemed to Alexander Montague on further reflection, that his ancestors married only Slytherins.

But such thoughts were forgotten as he looked at her.

It was as if the air had been kicked out of him as he studied her distraught face, the tightness of her features; the dejected, almost broken look in her eyes. This was what he had wanted, to break her and he had very nearly done just that. Just one more word and she would shatter under the strain. He should have been happy, anticipating the event, but instead he felt guilt, regret at what he had reduced a once proud woman to. It was her fire that had drew him to her, and now it was as if it was he who had quenched it. It was this that made her so dangerous: these various feelings that she could inspire in him.

"You're not in trouble, Angelina," He tried to reassure her, speaking quietly, "At least not yet, and that is why it is so important for you to listen to me. I cannot help you otherwise. You have to let me help you if you want your family to remain safe."

"I thought you wanted to kill my family," she said bitterly.

"I do," Montague told her. "But if anyone is to get that privilege, it's me."

It was at that moment in time, when Angelina realized one of the most important things that she ever could about Montague. He would do whatever he wanted to her and her family, but he would not allow anyone else to touch them.

She couldn't decide which scenario was worse.


	13. Chapter 12

A/N: At last! I am back with a new chapter! You wouldn't believe how much I have slaved over this chapter just to get it to where it is now. I am happy to say though that the next chapter is well on the way to being finished, only a few more scene's and various pieces to be put into order as it's pretty much all bits at the moment. Look for it towards the beginning of next week if all goes well. Fingers crossed

A big thankyou to all my readers and reviewer's and as always my wonderful beta **_WriterLady1031_**!

**danger.angel**: The discovery channel! That's a new one! It made me laugh though! Nice to hear that you're enjoying the story so far!

**Evilevergreen:** Who does she think about when making love to Montague?Maybe it will come to light in the next few chapter's, maybe not, but it will be brought up again! Thanks for the review, and you'll be relieved to know that the next chapter is well on the way to being finished. I'm not sure what you'll make of this chapter, but it's better than the other drafts at least.

**Cupiditatis:** You think you understand about the mark and the necklace? There's still more to come!

**aquahearts357**: Thanks for the review! Hope that you continue reading!

**Shea LaRoc**: It's taken a bit longer, but the next hcpater is finally up!

**Absolutely-Fuzz**: The character's still have a long way to go, but I'm glad that you like them so far, there's still a way for them to go though!

**Mercurian Orchid**: Must admitt that I hadn't thought of Angelina and Montague coming in from different angles like that! I like the sound of it though! Makes it sound poetic and sophisticated in a way! Thanks for the review, be sure to carry on reading! 

**bittersweet angel:** Here's the update so let me know what you think!

**J3nniFER:** Another A/M newbie! I hope that you'll carry on reading, and look out for other A/M stories, they are few and far between but some of them are real gem's!

**Majestrix:** Thanks for your lovely review, I'm thrilled that you like the fic and it's nice to knw that I haven't alienated Montague from reader's too much! Although I think that in future chapter's he will begin to sofen a bit.

**angel-word**: Another reader! Welcome! Hope you stay and see what happen's!

**paixamouretchocolat:** Well here's the next chapter, read on and tell me what you think!

**angelface04**: The power struggles between the two of them are only beginning!Relieved that you like Montague, if eveyone hated him there would be no pointin carrying on the fic!

**elektra12**: Had to put those lines in, just because I don't thinnk that Angie as of yet truly understands Montague's character despite knowing him for years at Hogwarts, which means that him to do the things that he is doing is completely unbelievable for her.

**loneangel**: Thanks for the review! I think Montague's going to become far more frustrated by his emotions for awhile yet though!

**Nikki:** 'work alcoholic' how could I have missed that! It made me laugh and cringe at the same time! Thankyou for pointing it out though, otherwise I probably would have noticed!

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_**Chapter 12**_

They stood staring at each other, the silence that had once again descended upon them splitting the two further and further apart once again.

It was broken by a sigh from Montague as he ran his hand through his hair, seeming to look anywhere but at her. The fire that had been eating away at both of them had left nothing but ashes cooling quickly as both tried to understand what had been said in their argument. Both were left picking over the little details and wondering why the other could hurt them so much.

"Just," The word, a harsh crack in the silence that boomed out and washed over them, was softly spoken, yet sounded impossibly loud in the space around them.

Angelina flopped down heavily in the chair to her right, her hands rubbing her face, and then supporting her head as she leant her elbows on the table. The emerald around her throat had long ago turned cold, as had her emotions, as she sat seemingly defeated in front of Montague.

She was bruised sure, but not broken. She was tired, exhausted after the long trip that she had undertaken. All she wanted was to sleep for eternity and wake up when the nightmare was over.

"Why me, Montague?" Angelina rubbed her head and mumbled dejectedly, "Why did you pick me out of all you could have chosen?" An answer she did not expect, so it came as no surprise when he did not give her one.

"What now, my mighty master?" Angelina asked sarcastically upon receiving no reply from her first questions.

Montague growled low in his throat at her mockery, but gave no reproof, for she was showing spirit and after their previous discussion he knew that she would need it. Perhaps he would tame that spirit and fire inside of her and not break her completely; it would be far more satisfying for her to submit to him alone, and fight everyone else.

"Just… just go to bed Angelina. Go get some sleep," Montague told her, his voice weary.

"No!" Angelina refused. "You don't turn up and pick a fight with me when you feel like it and then tell me to bugger off!"

The lethargy that had been creeping through his body and started to settle in his bones began to ebb away as Angelina provoked him once again. "I do what I want, Angelina. Nobody controls me. Nobody. Remember that."

"Yeah! Nobody controls you, Montague!" She mocked mimicking his voice before snarling, "Nobody but your pathetic Dark Lord controls you!"

"Shut up, Angelina!" He shouted at her, furious. "Shut the fuck up because you have no idea what the hell you are talking about!" He quieted down, his voice lowering to an angry hiss. "There will be a day when you regret saying the things that you have! I truly didn't realize that you were so eager for an introduction with our so-called 'pathetic dark lord,' my dear."

"Not 'our,' Montague, 'your' Dark Lord," she hissed back at him, her eyes glowering darkly at him.

Montague advanced upon the infuriating witch, scowling at her as retreated from her chair and placed it between them as she backed away from him. She had the expression of a caged animal; one that was of the hunted as she continued to seek escape from him. She hit the wall with a small thump and realized her mistake; she could not go back any further. She made a sudden move to sidle along the wall but her way was blocked by Montague's arm as his fist hit the wall with a large thwack.

"Once again, I find myself having to correct you, my dark angel. Not as smart as you think obviously. Who is your master?" His voice took on a taunting tone as he leaned closer.

Angelina didn't answer him, gritting her teeth together in anger. Montague smirked at the witch opposite him, unable to believe that he had thought her near breaking point earlier.

"I asked you a question, Angelina." He paused. "I'm getting a weird sense of dejá vu and I really don't like it." Grabbing her by the shoulders, he pulled her away from the wall before briefly spinning her around and slamming her back into it. Struggling, she tried to wriggle her way out of his grip, only find herself pinned more firmly against the cold wall. Montague's body was pressed intimately against her backside, keeping her in place and forcing the very air from her lungs.

Forcing her body to be still, Angelina felt Montague's body relax slightly. His grip, while tight, was not as painful as before; a small chance of escape.

"Now, I am going to ask one more time, Angelina, and I expect you to answer," he informed her calmly. "If you don't answer, the next time that you see your family will be at the morgue, where you will try to identify what remains of their mutilated bodies. And who knows, maybe if you're really lucky, I'll keep one or two alive. They might lose their minds of course, but the one thing that they would remember is why. Now, who is your master?" Montague enunciated each word, his hand slipping down her back to grope her ass momentarily before slipping under her shirt and pressing against his mark of ownership.

"You are," Angelina choked out, shame in her voice. A rush of warmth swept through her body, her skin tingling as the emerald became hot against her chest.

"I'm sorry, I didn't catch that. Could you repeat your answer?" The Slytherin drawled, pleasure humming through his veins at the knowledge of that she had submitted to him.

"You are," she whispered.

"Louder."

"You are."

"Louder."

"You are!"

"Louder!"

"YOU ARE!" His mark on her skin flared to life and she gave a surprised gasp as it burnt pleasurably on her lower back. Streaks of heat scampered over her body, causing her nipples to harden and strain against their confines. It was an ache that was becoming ever more prominent between her legs; her body all the more conscious of the lean male that was pressed against her back. Her hips rocked involuntary back against his and Montague chuckled, his hands slipping down to hold her hips still against him.

"That mark can cause both pain and pleasure, my dark angel. Now imagine, if it can cause such pleasure as you have just experienced, what would its pain feel like? Now, I have another question for you. Who is my master?"

Angelina's lips moved soundlessly. It was a trick question!

"Since you are, once again, incapable of answering that question, I shall tell you: Voldemort is my master."

"And you said that nobody controled you," Angelina taunted.

"No-one does. I follow Voldemort, and in that respect he is my master, but it is my choice to follow him; my choice whether I do what he wants or not. He does not control me. Now once again, who controls me?"

"No one."

"Who is my master?"

"Voldemort."

"Who do you belong to?"

"You."

"I believe that you might be learning, my dark angel." He released her abruptly and collected his coat from where it had been hung on the coat stand. "I'll pick you up at 7:30pm. Make sure that you're ready." The wizard instructed as he disappeared out the door, leaving Angelina slumped against the wall, her face turned away from him so that he wouldn't see the tears that stole down her cheeks.

"I assume it is important," Montague stated upon his arrival.

The air was musty and thick as it encircled him. A draught whistled its way through the room, rustling his robes as they swirled around him. The gloominess of the building and its shadows partly concealed the two people within its chamber. Moonlight trickled in from outside, fighting its way through dirt, dust and grime to partly illuminate their features.

A smirk slid into place before being quickly disbanded as its owner's features once again became serious. "Would I have contacted you if it was otherwise?"

Montague shrugged. "It's possible. We both consider different things as being important."

"Malfoy's been making noises," Nott informed his fellow spy.

Rolling his eyes, Montague said: "Malfoys are always making noises," an air of boredom encompassing the statement.

"So are some of the others."

"What others?" Montague asked. His full attention was now focused on Nott, all pretence of annoyance gone. Malfoy was one thing, but if the others were starting to listen to what he had to say it could bode very ill for him.

"Flint. Crabbe. Goyle. Avery. Parkinson. Bole. Bletchley. Warrington. Zabini. Greengrass— those are the most prominent."

"Every single one of them lackeys."

"Aye, lackeys," Nott agreed. "But powerful ones in their own right, " The younger man cautioned him.

"I fall, Malfoy gains more power, ergo they gain more power. I get that, but there's often division in the ranks."

"Voldemort's heard of it because they've been spreading rumors between themselves. That you're no longer loyal to the cause and that you're spying for Dumbledore, that you've still not introduced your latest whore at court because she does not meet the requirements. Petty stuff that is wearing away at your reputation and the older ones noticed that you've been seen less and less in the halls and meeting rooms. A few doubt this, saying that you're merely playing with the Johnson girl, but they all agree on one thing: you haven't been at court and in 'our lord's' presence enough recently."

"And you? What do you think?"

There was a pause before Nott answered. "I think that you're so focused on Johnson that you're losing sight of the big picture. I think that you were stupid to take her as your whore because one level or another you've emotions concerning her. You would not stand back idly while they had their fun with her— something you'd see as your right only. I know your weaknesses Montague, just as you know mine. From my point of view, you've kept Johnson away from court for too long. You've made them curious about her, why you would keep her to yourself— you know how they are; they will want her simply because you have her!" He stopped then continued, his voice sounding out in exasperation. "She has some kind of… Merlin, I don't know…hold or power, whatever you want to call it, over you! And that gives them power! You can't afford that Montague! You _need_ to get rid of her!"

Montague's jaw was set, his mouth in a grim line. "I'm to going to _get rid_ of her! You know nothing Nott!"

"You're even getting defensive with me! She's supposed to be your whore, Montague, expendable like the others! If they sense a difference in you towards her, you're both dead! Get rid of her! You keep insisting that you feel nothing for her, so it shouldn't be too difficult, should it?"

"Understand one thing, Nott. I do not 'get rid' of anything that belongs to _me_. _She_ belongs to _me_. Get that through your skull. She is _mine_, and she will remain mine no matter what."

"Even at the risk of your own life?"

The older Slytherin shrugged. "It is of no matter to my life. It's the principle of the thing. I bend to them once and my life is worth nothing. I'd be better off dead."

"And Angelina? What of _her_ life?"

The question was left hanging in the air as Montague's fist made its way into Nott's face.

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A/N: Ouch! Poor Nott. Don't worry though, we shall be seeing more of him in later chapter's, that have been mapped out in my head! 


	14. Chapter 13

A/N: Its up later than expected sorry about that, but I had a few small bits that I needed to think about on this chapter. First of all another big thankyou to my beta _**WriterLady1031 **_for all her work on this chapter. A huge thanks to my reviewers **paixamouretchocolat**, **gitsrus, ****bittersweet angel, ****Hikari no Tenshi, bana05**, **Cupiditatis, angelface04, Ella Palladino, ****Shea LaRoc, ****Laicamiel**, **Silver Scribes**, **Evilevergreen**, and **person56**!

_**Mark of Montague : Chapter Thirteen**_

The wind whipped around her face, turning her cheeks red and her lips blue. Her eyes stung and the occasional tear leaked out only to be snapped away by the wind. The sea beneath her crashed and pounded onto the beach, foam swirling around on top of its icy depths. Dark clouds were overhead, the sky a dismal gray that reflected the sea. Gulls were torn off course as they tried to make it to their nests amidst the grooves of the cliff face. The grass beneath her hands was coarse and sand was scattered across ground where she sat running her fingers through the rough texture.

"How did you know that I would be here?" Angelina asked, her words stolen from her lips by the wind only seconds after she had spoken them.

The figure behind her shrugged, knowing that Angelina couldn't see. "There are only two places you go when you're upset. I figured that you'd been to one already, so that left here."

"It helps me think," Angelina said simply.

"Really," Kat commented, "it's so loud that I can't hear a word inside my own head half the time I'm up here."

"That's the idea." Angelina replied morosely.

"Avoiding the problem won't make it go away, Angelina. Even I know that."

"I know. But it's nice to pretend."

Kat gave a small sigh, remembering the times that she had done just that. "It is."

The two women sat in silence then. Both stared out at the sea, lost in their own thoughts. The air, damp and salty, was chapping their lips as they sat on the cliff top. They were two lone figures, sitting so still that they were almost a part of the imagery, their only movement the hair that had escaped its confines that was dancing in the wind.

"Sometimes," Angelina started.

"Sometimes what, Angelina?"

"Sometimes I forget that you're not as shallow as you make out to be," Angelina admitted.

Kat gave a bitter chuckle. "Sometimes it's easier pretending to be someone else. It's like a safety net. If you're just pretending to be that person, just playing that part, then you can't be hurt because it's not really _you_."

Silence once again reigned between the two women as they watched the waves break upon the shore.

Suddenly, Kat reached over and grasped Angelina's hand. "I don't pretend to understand what is going on with you at the moment, Angie, but you can talk to me if you need to. You're not the only one with painful past relationships; don't forget that."

Squeezing Kat's hand, Angelina offered her sister a weak smile. "Montague wants to take me to a-a," Angelina paused, struggling over the word, "¦to a ball. But I know what he's like, Kat; he wouldn't do it without an alternative motive. There's a reason, I just know there is. And I just don't know what to do about him."

"Have you spoken to the wise woman?"

Angelina nodded, "She told me to 'deceive him.' How the heck am I supposed to do that?"

"Who knows?" Kat asked with another shrug of her shoulders. "They're men, they don't behave rationally. Let him believe what he wants, let him take you to these fancy dos, let him buy you clothes and jewelry, let him believe that you want to become a part of his world! Laugh at him, tease him!" She quickly ended her mini-tirade, taking a breath. She turned to look her sister in the eye. "Angie, can I ask you a question?"

"Ask away, but you might not get an answer."

"You and Montague, whenever you speak, is it always him that initiates it? Is it him that starts the arguments and provokes you?"

Angelina was silent for a moment, and then nodded her head.

"Ever wondered if he does it just to get a reaction from you?" Kat asked. "Try not to give him the satisfaction of getting upset."

"But that's the whole point! I can't _not_ react! If he wants me to go to this ball tonight, it's because he has some kind of plan up his sleeve! I know this guy, Kat! I went to school with him for seven years!"

"Guys always have ulterior motives. Haven't you learnt that yet? Usually it's because they're trying to get you into bed!" Kat joked. "But I've a feeling he's already done that," she added quietly to herself.

"But his motives are so much more dangerous! So much more complicated!"

"I'm sure they are! But for someone else his motivations and loyalties are not so much of a problem! And it is the same with yours!"

Angelina fell silent for a moment. "But Kat, the consequences for me being s-seen with Montague tonight are so vast that it is unbelievable."

"Why?"

"Because if I go, I will see people that I haven't seen for years: friends, enemies, and teachers! What will they think if I turn up with Montague!"

"Angie, I honestly can't tell you what they will do or say, any of that! But if they truly are you friends, they will respect your decision and speak to you about it at a more convenient time. Yes, they might be mad. They might be hurt. They might ask you what they hell you're doing, but they should respect your decision even if they are not happy about it. If that is not the case then they are not worthy of your time!"

'_But that is not the situation in our world anymore_,' Angelina thought silently. '_There is suspicion around every turn with death and betrayal along every road! We act now before we think because otherwise we might be dead!_'

"Besides Fred might be there...," Kat grinned slyly.

Ok, he could admit that he hadn't reacted too well to Nott's question. The split lip and bruise on Nott's face could verify that.

The sensible thing to do would be to forget Angelina and sever all ties to her. She induced emotions within, and that made him unpredictable. That was unaffordable when the dangerous game he played had harsh, unforgiving rules. He shouldn't have marked her. In retrospect he knew that, but she had been soft and pliant in his arms and the decision he had made was a hasty one. That didn't mean that he regretted it, no, only his timing could have been better. However, she was safer with it rather than without. It would always be there, even when he was not. Through thick and thin, life and death the mark would remain.

He should let her go; wasn't that what everyone was telling him to do?

But she had been seen with him and for him to let her go now could be disastrous; disastrous for both of them. Angelina would become a target (and Montague had no illusions that any other "master" would treat her worse than himself), while he would be seen as weak by the other Death Eaters for letting her go in one piece and allowing another to posses what he had previously declared as his.

The Weasel, Snape and Nott; they were to blame though, not just him. The more they told him to give her up, the tighter his grip became. He just had to be difficult and go against what they had all advised. His father had always said that he lacked sense at the most important times, and his situation with Angelina proved just that.

But he wanted her.

A Montague always got what they wanted one way or another.

A package was waiting for Angelina when she returned home; it had been dropped onto the dining room table, with a compliments slip from a shop that she had never heard of before. _La Passion de __L'Amoureux_, it said.

A letter was positioned next to it, also addressed to her, the script familiar to her eye, but Angelina was unable to place it. Flipping the letter open, her eyes skipped its contents heading down to the bottom of the message to see who it was from. It was from Montague, reminding her that she was to be ready for when he arrived as they would be leaving immediately. The package, she was told, was what she would be wearing. Tossing the letter aside in annoyance, she picked up the package, gently, as if it would disappear from her hands the moment she touched it. Carefully she untied the string, and pulled away the wrapping paper from the item it enclosed. Lifting the dress from its confines, she shook it out, watching amazement as the material shimmered in the sunlight. Turning the gown in her arms, Angelina looked in awe at the dress before her. It truly was a work of art. Its coloring was a dark charcoal gray, which became a different shade each time the light hit the fabric. The silky material fell straight to the ground, showing a slight v-neckline and although the front of the gown was modest, the back was anything but. The material fell away sharply, exposing her back until at the very base of her spine, where it crossed over, creating a diamond shaped hole, that Angelina realized with a start, would because a sort of frame, for the tattoo on her back. '_Obviously my earlier thoughts and assumptions about this outing are being proven true_,' Angelina thought sarcastically.

So, if she was to attend this "ball," Montague was to make it known that she lay within his sphere of influence. She had little choice in the matter of her attendance; the price of her refusal was her family.

What was it that Kat had said earlier? That he did things merely to provoke a response from her? Yes, it was something like that. He wanted to punish her for her previous behavior and presenting her once again to the wizarding world, on his arm, would alienate her friends and all those in that world.

But how could she go back, not knowing what her friends would think of her?

Would they hate her?

Would they believe that she had crossed to the dark side?

Would they believe that she had betrayed them?

There were so many questions and so few answers.

It had been years since she last set foot in the wizarding world. What she knew of the current situation came from the wireless, the occasional magazine and newspaper. The few birthday presents and gifts she had bought had been done via owl post, but that was the only contact that she had had with the wizarding world, not having spoke to friends since the end of her relationship with Fred, wanting to forget about her past entirely.

The consequences of turning up with Montague were immense and none were to be taken lightly.

He had belonged to Slytherin House during Hogwarts.

His family was well known for their interests in the Dark Arts.

He was suspected of being a Death Eater.

He was a well known womanizer.

None of these would do the least good when announced as his date. Others would pre-judge her, they would whisper behind her back. They would doubt her because they had seen neither hide nor hair of her for the past few years. She was but a memory of their school days. And yet, by turning up with Montague, they would assume that she had made her choice of where her alliances lay.

She would be ruined the second that she walked into the room.

"Is there a reason I am in a Muggle evening gown and not in wizarding robes?" Angelina asked as Montague walked unannounced into her flat.

"A statement," Montague answered, his eyes surveying her form in the gown that he had provided. Angelina looked ravishing: the dress hugging her every curve, hair in a loose knot, with a few strands falling down around her face. Lips, shiny with gloss, her large dark eyes, framed by long thick lashes.

"Come here," Montague instructed, a slight frown crossing his face as she obeyed and stood in front of him.

"_Vicissitude aurum_," he said, lifting his wand. The necklace around her throat gleamed brightly as the gold chain turned from its original color in to white gold. "Where are you going?" Montague asked as Angelina turned away from him.

She paused, looking at him over her shoulder as he held her hand. "I need earrings," Angelina replied. A small case was pressed into her hand, her fingers curling up and around it before she broke out of Montague's hold and continued into her bedroom.

"Hurry up," Montague spoke sharply before she had completely left the room. "I told you to be ready when I arrived. We shall be late since apparating is prevented due to the wards and you don't posses a floo connection."

"Then we shall be fashionable late," Angelina drawled calmly, dismissing his concern as she closed the bedroom door behind her.

'_Prat_' she thought when she was out of sight, rolling her eyes towards the ceiling. '_It's going to be harder to stay calm than I thought_.' Taking a deep breath, she imagined a stone wall and focused on shielding her emotions so that he would not be able to pick up on them so easily via the necklace. Opening the black case that had been placed in her hand, she gave a small gasp as she looked at the contents in awe. Emeralds! They were each the size and shape of a large teardrop, about a quarter of the size of the one that was around her neck. Suspended by white gold, they glittered in the light as she turned her head, studying them in mirror. It was a shame that he had given them to her, or rather commanded that she wear them even if he hadn't said it, because otherwise she would have really loved them. They were beautiful, no denying that, but she would have liked them all the more if they were from a member of her family. Slipping on her sandals and switching off the light, Angelina re-entered the living room area, and picked up her cloak from where it had been folded over a chair. Sliding it over her shoulders, she pulled the hood up so that he face was cast into the shadows.

Montague looked up from where he was thumbing through her bookshelf and stared at her for a minute. "When we arrive, you are to stay close to me. If you are asked to dance, you are to accept, unless I say otherwise. You are to stay in my sight at all times. Do not slouch. Do not be rude. Do not allow yourself to become unescorted at any time. Do not speak unless spoken to. If you have any questions ask me at the first available opportunity. Try to avoid conversation with those that you don't know. Do not insult anyone. Do not drink large amounts of punch, I do not wish to have you disgrace us and end up having to drag you home. And for Merlin's sake, don't get caught speaking to any reporters. And Angelina darling, tell anyone of what is really between us and I will make sure you regret it. Understood?"

A dark scowl covered Angelina's face before she smoothed it away. "Of course, Master." Her smile and tone were saccharine sweet. The smile on her face became all the greater as she caught the odd look that Montague was sending her.

"You call me Alex or Montague tonight, my dark angel. Don't want any suspicions tonight, do we?" Montague frowned as he addressed her. Something was off. Master? Why was she suddenly using that after the fight that she had put up the night before? His frown deepened as he regarded her intently, her eyes met his, steadfast and sure. So his dark angel had a new game did she?

Montague stood to the side of Angelina, his eyes scanning the crowd making note of who was there and who they were talking with. Unconsciously, he placed his hand on Angelina's back, covering the mark as he stroked it while guiding Angelina further into the ball room.

The sound of people talking, the clink of glasses, and the gentle tunes from the wizarding band situated in the far corner washed over her senses as Angelina entered the ball room on the arm of Montague. Witches and wizards were clumped together in small groups throughout the room, some sitting and some standing as they discussed the various issues taking place in their lives at that moment in time. Couples were already waltzing to the music provided, making the most of the dance floor while it was still relatively empty. Various colors clashed and complimented each other as their owners each tried to outdo the other. A smattering of other women, all dressed in Muggle gowns, were also present, while the majority of people were in robes of different shades and styles. Discreet alcoves provided the perfect opportunity for young lovers to disappear from the watchful eyes of chaperones and the older generation. An air of reckless gaiety hung suspended in the air as people laughed a little too loudly, smiled too often, and glanced around trying to be inconspicuous as they watched who arrived and left.

"Smile, darling," Montague chided her softly. "You've made the biggest catch of year."f course, pumpkin," Angelina murmured. "Biggest catch of the year, you say? I think I could do better though, would you mind if I throw you back?"

"Angelina." Montague growled in warning.

"Yes, pumpkin?"

"I will not be called the name of a vegetable that has the same colored skin as that weasel!" He hissed at her.

A voice had interrupted, beckoning him from the other side of the room. "Montague, my man, it's nice to see you at last!"

"Warrington," Montague greeted with a small nod of his head and smirk. "My date for the evening," he said, motioning to Angelina. "I'm sure you remember Miss Johnson."

"Indeed I do." Warrington agreed. "One could not forget such a beautiful," Warrington paused, his eyes running over Angelina's body, "face."

'_My fa_ce' Angelina snarled mentally. '_You haven't been looking at my face once; you've spent the past five minutes lavishing your attention on my chest!'_

"No one could forget such a face as yours. Although I must say Angelina—"

"Miss Johnson." Montague snapped.

"Although I must say, Miss Johnson," Warrington continued smoothly, "that you have certainly grown since I last saw you," he remarked, his eyes lingering on her breasts. "A beautiful necklace you are wearing tonight," Warrington commented, his hand reaching out to touch the emerald.

Angelina tensed as she saw his hand come towards her; already she had become disgusted by his manners. The hand situated on her back, paused in mid-stroke, and Angelina felt the sudden spurt of anger weave its way through her body, originating from the emerald. Montague, she realized, noticing for the first time, that although his face was deceptively blank, his body was stiff with tension.

"It has been in my family for many generations." Montague informed his former teammate coolly. "And will be for many more."

Warrington's hand paused in mid air and then was dropped back down to his side. "How very interesting," he said, his eyes flashing as he glanced at Montague.

"No date tonight, Warrington?" Montague asked.

Warrington's eyes once more returned to Montague. "I was not as fortunate as you."

"Yes, I am a lucky man, am I not, to have my very own dark angel by my side?" The question needed no answer and Warrington didn't bother to reply, instead he turned his attention to Angelina once again.

"What brings you back after so many years then, Miss Johnson? The last I heard you were involved with the Weasel."

"We all make mistakes, after all Milicent Bulstrode was one of yours, wasn't she?" Angelina answered sweetly, Merlin he really was disgusting. "Business kept me away unfortunately, but then I bumped into Montague, and well, as they say, 'the rest is history.'"

"I'm sure." Warrington replied shortly. "Please excuse me." With a bow of his head, he disappeared off into the crowd.

"I thought I said not to be insulting." Montague hissed at her, his annoyance surging through their link.

"Did you?" Angelina murmured pleasantly. "Oh I am sorry love, but there were so many rules of what to do and what not to do that I was bound to forget some of them," she paused and then let out a gasp of dismay. "Do you think Warrington was very upset? Maybe I should go and comfort him...,"

"Stay away from Warrington" Montague warned her. Another rush of anger raced through Angelina's body.

"But I was so _very_ rude to him. I wouldn't want to offend anybody now would I, darling?" Angelina was deliberately playing with Montague. It was sweet in a disturbing way that he was jealous of Warrington. Why though she couldn't fathom, for Warrington was as slimy as they come.

"Angel, I don't care if you insult the entire room, the _only_ one that you will be comforting is me."

Angelina smirked. "Now Montague," she pouted, "didn't anyone ever tell you that jealousy wasn't becoming?"

Montague's eyes darkened. "What have I to be jealous of?" He said lightly, "For while I live, no-one will be touching your body except me."

Anger and resentment rose in Angelina at his words, but she refused to let him see how he had disturbed her, and filed away the nugget of information for pondering another time.

Fred stood with Hermione and George at the edge of the crowd, his back facing the wall as he watched them from a discreet alcove. His full attention was on his ex-fiancée and her current lover, much to the displeasure of his girlfriend.

But Hermione didn't know Angelina like he did. He was concerned for her; they had been friends at one point. Hermione would understand that. He just wanted to know what Angelina Johnson doing in the arms of Alexander Montague, former Slytherin, Head Boy, Quidditch captain and bitter rival during Hogwarts?

And…why did she look happy being there?

From what Montague had told them at the order meetings, Angelina was supposed to have been blackmailed and yet there she was, standing next to Montague, perfectly composed, all cool, calm and collected meeting the fellow Death Eaters without raising so much as an eyebrow.

She was acting like a Slytherin! She was supposed to be stressed and disheartened; grateful for any kindness she received from the people she had once called friends. She should be acting demure, cautious, and mouse-like as if her very soul had been ripped from her body and beaten black and blue, tarnished beyond recognition before being forced back into a body that no longer fit it.

Yet there was she was! Teasing and tempting Montague as he stood by her.

No, Fred decided. That was not like his Angelina. His Angelina would never behave like some kind of scarlet woman! His Angelina would rather have died than allowed a murderer to touch her!

Fred's eyes shifted to Montague, his gaze dark and poisonous as he focused his anger on the Death Eater with his arm around Angelina's waist.

As if sensing a pair of eyes burning a whole into his body, Montague turned his head slight, discreetly looking about the room for the owner of vicious thoughts and jealousy, he noted at once he found who the eyes belonged to. He sent a small vindictive, gloating smirk in Fred's direction and then turned his attention back to the small group surrounding him and Angelina making small talk. He pulled Angelina closer to him, tucking her more firmly against his side as his hand continued to trace the design on Angelina's back. He turned whispering something into Angelina's ear; her own eyes slid to glance at Fred briefly before turning back to Montague. She smiled teasingly at the dark haired man standing to the side of her whispering something back to him. Whatever she said had an immediate effect on the former Slytherin. His hand abruptly stopped tracing the pattern on her back as it had been all evening and twisted into her hair as her lips were mashed to his, a fierce demand in the kiss that he had claimed. But she returned his demand with her own challenge as they seemed to battle for dominance before one of them relented and pulled away, the end of the kiss gentle and vastly different to the beginning.

It looked barbaric, Fred thought in disgust as he watched how Montague's hand wound its way into Angelina's hair. Such a kiss was surely Slytherin, but what was worse was that Angelina seemed to be enjoying it. She stared at Montague for a moment, a soft smile on her face as she ran a finger down the side of his jaw; an act that spoke of intimacy that served only to make Fred's stomach clench at the thought. A slow smile made its way onto Montague's face, seemingly amused at what she said because he laughed as his grip on her relaxed. Leaning forward, he whispered something else in her ear, wrapping a strand of her dark hair around his finger. His dancing eyes swept back over to Fred, knowing that he had witnessed their show and Angelina's behavior; that the finale of their play was not yet over and there would be fireworks during its final scenes.

Leaning forward again, Montague released the strand of Angelina's hair as she arched her neck. Fred watched as he dropped a kiss just behind her ear, his eyes dropping down to the mark on her lower back that his hand had been covering for most of the evening now revealed.

Fred could not believe his eyes as he stared, dumfounded at the scene before him. Angelina was in Montague's arms, his claim of ownership on her skin bared for all to see. He let out a strangled choke as the complete ramifications of such a mark hit him full force. He knew what they stood for. He knew what it meant. But what he could not comprehend was why Angelina had allowed that abomination to blemish her skin and soul. It was not possible unless she had allowed it!

From that moment, Fred began to doubt that Angelina was really Montague's whore. No, she was acting more like a lover, a betrothed, than anything else!

The music came to a halt, and as the pairs on the dance floor detangled themselves from one another they turned towards the band, clapping politely before they made their way back to the chairs, the refreshments and the group that they belonged too.

"Thank you for the dance, Nott," Angelina said politely.

"It was my pleasure."

"I'm sure." She spoke, her tone dry. "I would say that you didn't have to, but we both know that with Montague, you don't get a choice."

His throat made an odd choking sound at her comment, but other than that he remained silent.

"I'll meet you back by Montague," She told him as she turned away.

"I'm supposed to escort you back." He objected.

"Then you can escort me to the restroom on your way."

Glancing up at the ex-Slytherin, she saw no change in his expression.

"I'll wait outside."

Angelina nodded and turned off down the small corridor towards the ladies. But before she could reach the end, a hand shot out around her arm and hauled her into one of the hidden alcoves. With a yelp she disappeared into the darkness, her eyes frantically searching the shadows.

"_Lumos,_" a voice spoke. A dim light flashed up from the tip of a wand, the shadows receding enough to allow Angelina to see the person who had grabbed her.

"Angelina!" Fred greeted her, his tone cold and his eyes hard. "I didn't think that I'd see you here as a Death Eater's whore, aren't you a little out of your league?" He sneered at her.

Angelina froze as his words cut her to the core and she resolved not to let him know how much his words had hurt her. The malice in his voice surprised her; she was unused to hearing such a tone in his voice. There was also the shock of seeing him again after such a long time. She'd known that she would see him, but still she'd assumed that they'd each sneak a few glances at the other. Perhaps, she had thought, they would have an awkward meeting by the punch bowl where they'd exchange civil greetings before making their way to opposite sides of the room, completely avoiding each other for the rest of the evening.

"Good evening, Fred."

She hoped that the pleasantries would soon be over.

Her silent plea was answered.

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A/N: Well theres the latest update, hope that you enjoyed it and are looking forward to the confrontations where more will be revealed! Can you guess about what! 


	15. Chapter 14

A/N: I know it has been a long time since I updated, and I do apologise, I know I say it eveytime I update but I am trying my best so please have faith and bear with me!

Evilevergreen: Update at last! Thrilled to still have you reviewing and letting me know what you think! Hope that you enjoy this chapter because I know that you have been waiting for it a long time!

paixamouretchocolat: Thanks for reviewing even though it has been awhile, but I hope this chapter grabs your attention and brings you back into the story line!

mandi-danielle: Hi! Thanks for reviewing, I am happy to know that you've been reading it even if you haven't had the chance to review before. I hope that you like the latest chapter and please let me knwo what you think!

Ella Palladino: More sparks fly with Angelina you can be sure but you'll have to read the chapter to find out more!

Shea LaRoc: Not so much passion this chapter as anger this chapter, well for most of the characters anyway...Thanks for letting me know about the new pename by the way!

angeleyez1071: Thanks! Be sure to let me know what you think of this chapter, feedback is always appreciated.

Cupiditatis: Hey! That confrontation? Read on to find out!

bittersweet angel: Sparks galore! Thanks for your review! Let me know what you think of the heat in this chapter!

Chocolatebrowneyes: Thanks for letting me know what you think, it means a lot to know that you can read a chapter, and it can still have the same effect as the first time that you've read it because it means that I am heading in the right direction!

Silver Scribes: I know it's been a long time since I posted, but look at it this way! We've started breaking up from school and college over here, so if you have too what a nice surprise to come back to!

Quiddie15: Even if you haven't reviewed every chapter, a review like that certainly makes up for it! Thankyou for the praise, I love writing these characters not only because they are gryffindor/slytherin but because even when we meet the characters in JKR's books, there is still so much leftunsaid between them. The stakes have certainly risen for both of them though as you will find out in later chapters if you carry on reading.

Nikki: I know it was a nasty cliff hanger, but I don't it intentionally. In ecah of the chapters I write I get to a certain point and think, hell! Where do I go know, that's usually why there are such gaps between chapters, I know what I wantto happen, but getting there is another story altogether!

numberfour: I hope this chapter is as good as the last! Always nuce to know that my readers are enjoying the story!

nikki: Montague loves pushing Fred's buttons doesn't he! Thanks for the compliments about her dress, I designed it primarily to highlight Montague's Mark!

Digital Tempest: Hope you've caught up on ypur sleep enough to flick through this chapter!

vegiegurl: Thanks! Here's the update, hope you're still interested!

BattlestarPolaris: Montague - typical male indeed! Thanks for the review, and having taken a fair bit of time to update, I hope that the chapter meets your expectations! He is a jerk, but I think the hot ones can always get away with far more can't they? Stupid hormones!

hugz69: Here it is! Read read read! Review review review! I'll say it one more time! Read! Review!

brilliantbrunette89: Thanks for the review. I know some writers edge away from the darker side of HP, but it'd just as important for feedback from those will read what others won't write, so thanks for the review, I hope you like the latest on Mark of Montague.

As always a BIG THANKYOU to my beta SHYLADY1031, because without her support and skills this chapter would have taken a little more time!

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"Angelina, how could you be so stupid? What in the world induced you to—" Fred's words came to a spluttering halt as he tried to express his feelings in words. It reminded Angelina eerily of how her father's car sounded in the winter.

"How could I what, Fred?"

"Montague!" He howled.

"How could I what Montague? Date him? Fuck him? You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Fred."

"Let him mark you in the old way!"

Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat before starting to thud furiously in her chest. _Let_ _him _? She hadn't _let_ him? How did she _let_ him? He'd done it without her permission, she hadn't let him…

"He couldn't do it without your permission, consciously or even sub-consciously, for Merlin's sake! How could you let him, Angelina?"

His voice carried on droning in the back ground. She hadn't let him! She hadn't! Her mind screamed, fighting against the thought.

"Do be quiet! What I decided to do had nothing to do with you! What I do hasn't been your concern for the past two years! What do you think I am, Fred, some kind of toy that you can pick up and discard whenever it suits you? You're acting like a spoilt child. You don't want me, but what? No-one else is allowed to have me either? Just because you don't want me doesn't mean that no-one else does! Am I to be alone forever simply because the _honorable_ Frederick Weasley decreed it so?" Angelina sneered.

"He doesn't want you! He's just using you!"

"What and you weren't? News flash, Fred! I'm not the same girl that you knew in Hogwarts or the one that you dated afterwards! What makes you think that I'm weak? What makes you think that he's using me? What makes you think that _I'm _not using him? Huh? He could be my inside track to some of the most powerful wizards ever born!"

"Well you won't get very far, will you? Not with Montague being the backstabbing traitor that he is!"

"No different from you then, is he?" Angelina flung back at him. Merlin! It sounded like she was defending him!

Fred stared at her in horrified amazement. "Merlin, Angie…" He whispered. "What's happened to you?"

"_You _happened!"

Fred began denying her accusation immediately. "That's not true! I don't believe that for a second, Angelina! Of course I don't! That's not true! But why pick Montague? Why Montague-It's him isn't it! That's what's changed you. He's forcing you into something, I know he is! He's making you say these things! Just tell me and I'll help you! I swear it Angelina, I swear it! Just tell me!" He pleaded.

"What Montague forces me to do, or not to do as the case may be, is none of your concern. I ceased to be your concern the minute you took your slut into our bed!"

"Don't bring 'Mione into this!" Fred argued defending her.

"I didn't remember! You did! You were the one cheating! Not me! And as your ex and the injured party, I claim the right to call the bitch whatever I choose to! After all the shoe fits…" Angelina commented slyly. "If the two of you don't like the ugly truth, that you're a, a, a chump," she burst out, "who can't keep it in his pants, and that she's a trollop, then you shouldn't have earned those names in the first place!"

"I can't believe you! The Angelina I know-"

Angelina didn't wait for him to finish. "I thought I told you already! The Angelina you knew died the second she found you in bed with your Mudblood whore!"

"You've been spending too much time with that son of a bitch Montague!" Fred snapped at her. He took a few deep breaths, evidently trying to calm himself down. It seemed to have worked, for when he next spoke his words were cautious and thought out. "But you know what, it is okay. He's making you say these things, isn't he, Angelina? I understand that you don't really mean what you're saying, that you can't help it."

"Montague is making me do nothing I don't want to do myself. I thought that you'd believe that, what with his mark on my skin!" She taunted.

"No, you're not my Angelina at all." Fred stated. "It's a trick. A Polyjuice potion or a glamour spell perhaps. Who are you really?"

"Oh don't be so absurd, Fred! Why wouldn't I want to spend time with Montague? He has the looks, the charisma, the money, as well as the good position in society: things that you'll never possess. And let's not forget the fact that he actually has a proper job!

Honestly, Fred! I'm getting laid! It's not the end of the world even if it is with Montague!"

"Don't you remember the fact that he is a Death Eater? That he is a murderer? Or do you block out those little details? Those bits of him that are a bit harder to swallow, a bit more difficult to bear, aren't they? Being the disgusting little bitch that you are, you probably enjoyed those times he's roughed you up on the quidditch pitch! You probably considered it foreplay!"

Angelina barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "Just because you believe they're bad things doesn't necessarily make it so! So what if he was a little mean to me at school? You were nice to me and look at you now: a petty ex-fiancé with no fashion sense, jealous of a rivalry that was made because some other boy got put into a different house!"

"You're a fool!"

Angelina shrugged off his insult. "We will all have to choose sides soon enough." She spoke dispassionately. "I'm simply ensuring that I too shall be on the winning side, with someone powerful enough to protect me. After all," She said flippantly, "What's the point of surviving the Wizarding war of the century to die in the celebrations? _Montague_ will be on the winning side of this war. _Montague_ will give me everything that I could ever possibly need. _Montague_ will not make a fool of me. _Montague_ will not let anyone else touch me because he will protect me, from himself as well as others. And you know how he'll protect me, Fred? If anyone tries anything, anything at all, he'll kill them. Because he's a murderer, and that's what murderers do." Angelina informed him, not giving him a chance to say anything as she closed the gap between them, looking up at him from under her eyelashes, a seductive smile hovering on her lips. "And do you know what he'd do after he'd killed them?" She purred into his ear. "He'd claim me. Screw me hard and fast on the floor, again and again until we were both covered in blood, theirs, mine, and his. He'd prove to me just why it was him I belong to and no-one else. Why only he can manage me. And he'd keep reinforcing it in the most delicious ways." Angelina leant back, and patted him on the cheek, she made as if to pull away before pausing and turning back to him.

"And just so we're clear, there is _nothing _about Montague that's difficult to swallow."

"At last!" Warrington cried. "Our Dark Angel had returned to us!"

Angelina smiled serenely at him, determined not to let him bring her down from the high she was flying on after the argument with Fred.

Montague smirked at her, although the effect was lost on her due to the vacant, blank look that was in his eyes.

"We were beginning to believe that Nott had kidnapped you." Malfoy sneered at her.

"I can assure you, wizards, it was I who kidnapped Nott." Angelina replied smoothly, as she released the fore mentioned slytherin and situated herself by Montague's side.

"Darling," Montague greeted her, his arm wrapping around her waist and drawing her against him like a band of steel.

A flash of movement to the right of her caught Angelina's attention, and she watched as Fred made his way back his place against the wall, his eyes in her direction. She smirked, holding back her laughter; he wasn't even being subtle about watching her now!

"Alexander." She purred, leaning up to place a kiss on his cheek. Yes it was petty, and yes, she probably was as bad as Fred but damn it felt good to get the red headed prat back!

"You seem in high spirits Angel." Montague commented, his eyes staring hard at her.

Angelina shrugged, "Merely enjoying myself, after all who wouldn't enjoy themselves in such fine company as this?"

"Indeed who wouldn't?" Montague said dryly.

"Weasley." Malfoy answered.

Warrington agreed, "Yes, he does seem rather constipated tonight, doesn't he? But that's understandable with his ex-fiancée hanging off Montague's arm, isn't it?"

"Better Montague's arm than Weasley's tatty robe!" Malfoy joked, although his eyes remained cold.

It was amazing what a difference a pair of eyes could make, Angelina mused. The lack of emotions in Malfoy's eyes really highlighted the emotions that ran through Warrington's and sometimes Montague's, depending on what mood he was in. Or perhaps, it would be better put as how far she had managed to piss him off.

There was a pause as the music came to a halt, offered a brief respite to the dancers. The quiet echoing of polite clapping flowed around the hall, and gradually the dull thrum of conversations picked up.

"Excuse us." Montague said, as he pulled away from the group of death eaters, taking Angelina with him.

They passed the refreshments stand, and carried on through the throngs of groups that had gathered at various points throughout the building. Montague gave a slight tilt of the head, occasionally acknowledging someone, or a smirk or sneer belittling others.

Angelina didn't protest as Montague guided her onto the dance floor, she merely smiled serenely at Katie Bell as she passed the blonde haired witch in the arms of George Weasley. The former Gryffindor chaser was watching with wide eyes as Montague pulled one of her best friends against him, and settled an easy arm around her waist, the other guiding Angelina's head onto this shoulder. She gaped as his fingers stroked the smooth skin on the base of Angelina's neck, his mouth pressed against her ear, as he spoke words only for her to hear.

"You were gone a long time with Nott. I couldn't see you," Montague's voice hissed directly into her ear. "I told you to stay were I could see you at all times."

"I forgot. But don't worry I wasn't with Nott all the time."

"What do you mean you 'weren't with Nott all the time?'"

"Not to point out the obvious, Montague, but it means what it says: I didn't spend all that time wrapped in Nott's arms. Delightful though they were, he's very good on his feet you know, makes me wonder what else he's good at…"

"Murder, mayhem, torture." Montague snapped.

"Yes, that's understandable. He does have the hands for it."

"Who else were you with?" He questioned her, spinning her body around in time with the music ignoring her last comment.

"Who do you think I was with? Guess and I shall tell you!" She teased in a lilting voice.

"You press my patience, Angelina. Do not think that because I am limited to what I can do now doesn't mean that it shall be forgotten after we have left."

"Then I had better enjoy it now, hadn't I, so I can savor the delight that comes from baiting you."

"I do not need to guess. The looks Weasley was sending us earlier were of anger, now they are of disgust, he looks upon me as if I am an animal. What have you said to him?" Fingers pressed into her spine, and Angelina arched up against his body.

"You are an animal, Montague!" The witch in his arms purred.

"What did you speak of?"

Angelina's head was pulled away from its position on his shoulder, and she let it fall back so that she could gaze up at the ceiling. A small throaty laugh bubbled up and was released. "Oh, it was nothing in particular." Another laugh escaped, along with a wide smile.

"What have you been drinking?" Montague asked through gritted teeth. Fire leaped in his eyes, and his jaw locked.

"I am not drunk from alcohol, Montague!" His teeth ground together as she laughed again. "This, this feeling comes from knowing that we are fooling them all, that I can have my revenge and know how it tastes. This delirious dance of destruction; the way it caresses the tongue, and soothes a parched throat before filling an empty belly. The way it dances throughout the blood, ensnaring the senses and mesmerizing the soul."

"You sound mad!" Montague spat.

There was that laugh again. It was the laugh that spoke of sex and forbidden temptations, booze and drugs._Salazar_! It would have been sexy if she wasn't laughing at him. Even now it affected him, making him want her even more. It made him want to make her breathless and unable to make a sound above a gasp or whimper. The only sound the laugh made him want to hear from her was the murmur of his name as it passed her lips.

"You made me like this!"

"What did you say to Weasley, Angelina?" Montague growled.

Angelina shivered at the way he spoke her name, his voice was harsh and demanding, yet it evoked something in her, something in her took pleasure in the low guttural sound.

"Angelina." There was that sound again that caused her legs to turn to jelly without the aid of a hex.

Her eyes returned from the enchanted ceiling where they had been gazing and locked with Montague's. She pressed up against him, standing on tiptoes so that she was able to look him straight in the eye. Every fiber in her being acutely aware of the male body she was pressed up against.

They had stopped spinning to the music now, and merely stood swaying, more than one pair of eyes feasting savagely upon their interaction.

Their noses and foreheads rubbed softly against one another, "We spoke," Angelina whispered, "Of murder…sex…" her lips brushed softly over his as she breathed out her secret words, "and blood." She told him, nipping at his lower lip.

"Montague, this is a dance floor. If you're going to whisper _sweet nothings _into each others ears, go find an alcove to fuck her in—I'm sure she'd appreciate it more; double the pleasure they say." Flint sneered at the couple, his voice low enough so that the other couples couldn't hear what was being said.

The spell that had surrounded the pair disappeared like a wisp of smoke and Angelina was pulled out of the stupor provided by the adrenaline from her argument. Her retort to Flint was quick and sharp.

"Can _you _do two things at once, Flint? I didn't realize that you had that ability," she said harshly. "Although, going by your suggestion you must have figured it out without hurting yourself too much." Flint's eyes narrowed in anger.

"Angel, that wasn't very polite." Montague reprimanded her, although not a trace of disappointment existed.

Angelina turned back to him, "What should we kiss and make up?"

"You should teach your whore some better manners, Montague, she makes a mockery of you."

Hate exploded in her heart, directed at her situation, Flint, Montague and everyone else that caused her to be put in this position. She had never dreamt of situations like this when she was younger. It was hard to think of the dreams that she had once dreamt. Dreams that she had believed in when she was still that innocent and naïve at Hogwarts. That girl that dreamt of passing exams, winning the quidditch cup, leaving school and having a successful career, and then later a family of her own, living a few doors up from her parents. At Hogwarts, things had been clear, black and white with no grays. Now it seemed that all she could see were various shades of that dull, dampening colour. Nothing was as it seemed any more. She missed that; the simplicity of life. Never had she thought that she'd be 'whore' to a Death Eater, her family safe for as long as she kept his attention and made him return to her bed.

She never imagined that. Oh, she knew bad things happened to people, that there were others that had been forced into similar situations, although their situations might be a little different. But she had never thought, not for a moment that it would happen to her. The idea had seemed inconceivable, but not silly, because you always think that you'll be alright, don't you? You never think that it might be you to die that day? To be held hostage? To be raped? It always happens to someone else, doesn't it? Not to you. Someone you know, perhaps, but never you.

"Wow, Flint, a three word syllable? Moc-ker-ey: see, one, two, three—I'm impressed! See, it's not that different from 'mudblood' a two syllable word." She gasped in feigned shock, "I _knew_ you could do it." Now Angelina's face took on a concerned look as she said, "But, do you know what a syllable is though or was this victory unintentional? Do you know what unintentional means?"

"Angelina." Montague warned her. "Flint." He tilted his head slightly in the direction of the older wizard, "Excuse us."

The couple moved away smoothly, Angelina not missing a beat as Montague moved them towards their ultimate destination, one that only he knew. Pulling back a tapestry, he ushered her through the hidden wooden door and pulled it shut behind him.

The room hidden behind the tapestry reminded her of her grandfather's study. Dark brown leather chairs seated by the fireplace, a heavy wooden bookcase was pushed against one of the walls and crammed with books. A sideboard held decanters filled with liquids of various shades of amber. Another side table held several wizarding papers, credible ones; Angelina knew instantly that you wouldn't find the Quibler among that pile. A round table sat in the back corner, surrounded by several chairs, chips and cards piled ready on its surface.

She stopped her observation of the room as Montague cast a soundproofing charm on the room.

"Flint is powerful, Angelina. As is Warrington, Malfoy, and dozens of others out there. You need to keep your trap shut, before it gets you into trouble you can't get yourself out of."

"That's why you're there, Montague."

"Don't delude yourself into thinking that I would sacrifice myself for you. I wouldn't die for you, Angelina. I won't die for anyone."

"I'd be disappointed if you did. If you were to die for me, my impression of you would be forever diminished."

"I don't give a toss what your impression of me is." Montague spat. "This moment in time, my life is worth more than yours. Always has been always will be. Don't forget it."

"You know what? I don't care if you believe that! So you might have money, the correct beliefs for 'your lord' and the right blood, but you know what, Montague? Your life might be worthier than mine, but mine is ultimately richer. In the end you will be the loser. Don't _you_ ever forget that."

A scrabbling sound from behind the wooden followed by a moan, caused Montague to jump into action. Grabbing her by the arm, he pulled her towards himself, falling back into the armchair by the fire that would allow them a good view of the doorway. The silky material of her dress had bunched up around her knees as she straddled the wizard in the chair, knowing almost instinctively what was going through his mind.

"My dress is going to be so creased." She murmured to herself in a detached fashion.

"You're a witch, for Merlin's sake!" Montague told her, pushing the dress further up her thighs, his hands slipping under the material to hold her in place. His lips claimed hers in a kiss just as the wooden door banged open, swinging round to bash against the wall. The bang was followed by a high female giggle as the couple stumbled into the room.

The couple however did come to a halt as they realized that they were no longer the only occupants of the room. Hair was smoothed back, and hands fell down to their owners sides, lips were licked in an embarrassed fashion, and cheeks flamed scarlet.

"Angelina?" A voice chocked out.

She drew back from Montague, turning to face him for the second time that evening. "Fred," she replied evenly, a smirk sliding into place, "fancy meeting you here." She rolled her head back, and closed her eyes, moaning softly, for effect she told herself sternly as Montague kissed the hollow just above her collar bone, sucking slightly on the soft skin there. His hands stole further up her legs, hard calluses on his hands scratching against her flesh gently causing her to gasp. His lips caught hers once again, her hands grasping his hair, tugging at the silky strands as she shifted slightly in his lap.

They were both panting slightly as he pulled away. Montague's eyes flickered over to where Fred stood, "Those, Weasley, are the _only _sounds a woman should be making when you seduce her." A nasty smirk marred his features as he took in Fred's partner, "But then, I don't suppose you would know about that, would you?"

"Better a mudblood than a whore!" Fred shot back.

"Sex slave," Angelina murmured.

"What?"

"I'm his sex slave, not his whore. Sounds better, don't you think?" Angelina could feel Montague's body shaking beneath her in amusement, even though his trademark smirk was still present on his face. "And you do realize that it's the 'love of your life' you just called a mudblood don't you?"

"Hear that, Weasley? My Dark Angel is even defending your 'girlfriend', the girl that didn't hesitate to jump into bed with her best friend's brother, even though she knew full well that he was engaged to a fellow witch. A witch she went to school with. A witch that helped her with homework, that listened to her worries when her best friends ignored her, a witch that helped her out of tight spots in the corridors when she should have been tucked safely away in bed. Isn't that gratitude for you?"

"Providing that they even made it to a bed," Angelina commented. "For all we know, they might have been alight with passion and unable to make it that far. Maybe their first time was a quick fuck against a wall," she shrugged her shoulders, "but you never know."

"How vulgar!" Hermione snapped, a flush riding high on her cheeks, eyes bright with anger.

"I think that we've offended the mudblood, Angel."

"Don't call her that! She's worth ten of you!"

"She's only worth ten of me, Fred? You told me I was worth a hundred Montagues once!" Her eyes were wide, in a teasingly innocent expression.

"Well I wouldn't pay a knut for you now!"

"Oh she's worth far more than a knut, Weasley, you wouldn't be able to afford her. Go back to your mudblood who doesn't know anything of the finer things in life."

"Don't you talk about my family like that, Montague, and that includes Hermione!"

"Is that so, Weasley? Engaged to this one as well?" Montague inquired smoothly.

"It doesn't matter whether I'm engaged to marry her or not! Hermione is family!"

"I didn't realize that you were into incest, Weasley, with Hermione being 'family' and all. What, is she classed as another sister? Or brother perhaps, seeing as she is nearly flat-chested? When men say that anymore than a handful is a waste," He addressed Hermione, "they're lying."

"I'd say that incest is pretty tame compared with what you two get up to!"

Angelina's shoulders shook with mirth at the look on Fred's face, and she quickly buried her face in the crook of Montague's neck, trying to mask her giggles. Oh, it was so obvious their conversation had stuck in his mind. It felt wrong to laugh at a comment like that,it made her feel very Slytherin-like, but oh his face!

"You're sick!" Hermione shrieked, "How can you talk about incest when we all know that pureblood families are all inbred!"

"You do realize you include the Weasel in that comment, don't you? Or maybe you're getting him back for the mudblood thing earlier?"

"Shut up, Montague, because you don't know what the hell you're talking about! You don't know me, and you don't know Fred and you don't know the Weasleys! So just shut-up! If you want to put that tongue of yours to some use, go and put it between Johnson's legs!"

"Meow!" Angelina turned her head, but didn't remove it from where it was resting. "But just so you know 'Mione, he can put his to better use any day compared to Fred! So go back to your perfect world, where everything is black and white as it seems! Enjoy it while it lasts, 'cause now that he's had you a while, don't fool yourself into thinking that it will be different. Come back down to earth, little girl. You're living in a dream world at the moment, ignorant of reality. The light side doesn't always win, victory doesn't always belong to those who deserve it, and those worthy of life don't always live!

"Look at you! You're nothing but a shadow of the Angelina that I knew! You're sick! You both deserve each other!"

"Ditto, darling," Angelina replied sweetly. "But we all know that you're not a match for us, so why don't you take it someplace else?"

"Gladly!" Hermione told them, raising her nose in the air in a haughty expression.

Fred spoke next, butting in to say his piece, "This isn't over, Montague! We'll finish this the next time there isn't a lady with us."

"I can always ask Angelina to leave the room, and then it will be finished. It's your choice, of course." The former Slytherin offered gallantly.

"That was not the _lady_ I was referring to!"

"Weasley, a mudblood, can't be a lady. Just as a pauper can't be a knight." Montague said coolly. "You might have delusions of grandeur, but the witches and wizards that actually are nobility can spot you a mile away for what you are: an upstart with more money than brains, which in your case is saying quite a lot. So why don't you take your flat-chested, bushy haired, buck toothed, know- it- all mudblood pet and get the fuck out of my sight before they need a body bag to cart you away in. If they find your body that is, after all, as you know, I've had quite a bit of experience disposing of unwanted problems."

"I hope you rot in hell, Montague!" Hermione hissed.

"I'm already there, Mudblood, so I've no need for your kind blessings. Besides, where else could I be with a Weasley and a mudblood in the same room as me, hmm?"

"One day, when you're begging me for help, I'll laugh, Montague!" Hermione told him before sweeping out of the room.

"That goes for both of us. Watch your back."

"The day I look over my shoulder because of a threat coming from a Weasely is the day hell freezes over and the wizarding population decides that Voldemort is simply misunderstood."

Fred didn't reply, instead he slammed the wooden door shut behind him as he stormed out of the room.

With a tired sigh, Angelina could almost picture her courage deflating as she was once again left alone with Montague. There had been enough confrontations for one day. Pulling her head off of Montague's shoulder, she shifted her legs to get off of his lap but her movement was stilled as his hands dug into the sensitive skin of her thighs.

"Let go of me, Montague." She demanded. "They've gone now."

The wizard beneath her didn't answer, nor did her release his grip on her. Instead he sank back further into the chair, spreading his legs so that it appeared as if he was sprawled out lazily in the chair, completely at ease with the world around him and the witch on his lap.

"Montague!"

"Now," He enquired, "Just what did you say to put Weasley in such a snit?"

Angelina rolled her eyes, feeling just as she did when her sisters were trying to pry information out of her. "I told him exactly what he wanted to hear."

"I presume you left some areas untouched?"

"Yes, and embellished other parts." She said, impatience lacing her voice. "Now let me go."

He sat staring at her for a minute, as if he could read her every thought, as if he would be able to tell what had happened between the two of them by simply looking at her eyes. After a while, his fingers released their grasp, allowing Angelina to escape his hold.

"How much longer are we going to be?" She asked as she leaned away from him.

"Not too long, I have business that needs taking care of." He assured her.

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A/N: Montague has business? Can anyone guess what it is? Now I've got some fave lines in this chapter that I love!Who can guess which parts! I'd love to know which bits you really like!

You'll be glad to know that the next chapter is already with my beta, so you shouldn't have to wait too long for the next update!


	16. Chapter 15

A/N: Hey Everyone, thanks for all your reviews I'm pleased to hear that you're enjoying the story so far. I just got this chapter back from my fab beta WriterLady1031. Thankyou to eveyone who let me know their fave parts, it was brilliant knowing which parts you all liked best!

Be sure to let me know what you think, I've no doubt that there will be some questions but whether I'll be able to answer them just yet might be another thing. But don't be afraid to ask, if I can answer them I will!

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Chapter 14

Hexes and curses flew through out the building that death eaters and aurors battled in. Spells were illuminating the various positions of the habitants, giving away precious positions with each flair of light. Moans and the desperate cries of the wounded filled the air, drowning out the shouts of voices as they threw curses at each other whenever there was a lull.

Beads of sweat dripped down Montague's brow as he threw up another protective shield, jumping to his right to avoid a stray spell. His eyes narrowed behind his mask as he took in the scene surrounding him. The death eaters were winning so far, their curses more damaging, their knowledge of the dark arts aiding in the battle against the light.

"Bumbling ministry idiots!" He sneered flinging a blood charm at one of the robed figures. Nasty little things, blood charms. Some made the blood clot in the veins, another made the red and white blood cells turn on each, there was one that prevented the cells from carrying oxygen throughout the body. But the one he'd just flung at some unknown wizard would cause blood to pass through his skin like sweat, only there weren't any treatments available to stop the fatal perspiration problem.

His wand was slick with sweat, and he ducked down behind an upturned table to wipe his hands and wand dry on his robes. It wouldn't do to die because his wand slipped from his hand in the middle of a deadly duel.

While it was a good thing that the Order of the Phoenix hadn't turned up yet, it did make his situation a little bit more precarious. There was always going to be someone that noticed the spells that he was using on the ministry were of a rather basic standard; nothing too unusual or nasty, nothing too dark. It wasn't that he was afraid of to hurt them, it was simply that it made things rather difficult when it came to working with them. It was not that he didn't want to make things easy for them; rather it was that they seemed to remember things and hold grudges. They were always quick to forget that it wasn't always a matter of choice in these situations.

It was like that incident with Lee Jordan. Had they arrived on time to help the guy escape he wouldn't have had to torture the poor bloke. And, Montague being Montague figured that he might as well make it believable and proceeded to practice his skill of the Unforgivables on him. The fact that he also had Voldemort and several other death eaters watching with great interest hadn't entered their minuscule little brains at all.

Slytherins survived. If Jordan had to be tortured or if Longbottom had to die to ensure that he, Montague, a Slytherin survived then so be it.

Cursing his luck, he jumped up from his hiding place, and moved back into battle once again.

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"You have failed me yet again." The voice echoed around the lower chamber, striking fear into the hearts of those present. Their masks were still in place, as were their torn and singed robes, bleeding wounds still gaping open.

All of those still alive and conscious that took part in the raid were standing in that room.

"I give you all that you could possibly want, and still you fail me." Brilliant red eyes the color of blood stared out at the death eaters from their sunken sockets, the flat nostrils quivering as anger took hold of Voldemort.

"You are purebloods! You are younger than your parents! You have grown up in a time of war! Of suffering and strife! At this moment in time you are in a position to change that! To rid the world of those that would weaken our blood, our magic, our world! And yet despite this you fail and flee from the ministry. A ministry that is made from muggle- lovers and mudbloods who are no better than squibs! A ministry that holds power only in name!

How can they fear you when they laugh at you?"

No one moved for fear of brining the Dark Lord's attention upon them. They stood in a ring around him as immobile, living statues that held their breath fearing that it might be their last.

"Flint!" A death eater to the left of him stepped out of formation into the center of the circle. The large bulky figure bowed awkwardly to the Dark Lord although no less reverently.

"My Lord."

"Who was placed in charge if this raid?"

"I was, my lord."

"Crucio!" Red light streamed from Voldemort's wand, enveloping Flint's form as he fell to his knees, gasping moans and whimpers falling from his mouth despite his attempt to hold in his pain.

Voldemort's voice was steady as he addressed his death eaters, ignoring the fact that Flint was still under the Cruciatus curse. "Failure is not acceptable." The cries from Flint were now becoming louder and more frequent as the curse was maintained. But no one stepped forward to intervene, it was far too dangerous too do so, it would result in instant death to cross Voldemort, pureblooded or not Flint was not worth dying for.

Montague kept his mind blank, unwilling to draw unwanted attention to his person. It was habit to shield his thoughts from those around him, you could never be too careful, especially in his situation. It was well documented what happened to spies, and he had no desire to find out first hand how it felt.

"Warrington!" A slim figure stepped out into the circle. "Because of Flint's catastrophe you now have a chance to prove yourself. Show me that you are worthy of the mark that you bear," Voldemort commanded. His eyes flashed as he regarded the unconscious body of Flint that lay before him. "Crabbe! Goyle! Remove this carcass from my sight. Send it to Bella with my compliments."

"My Lord," they each muttered, moving from their positions towards Flint.

"Leave." Voldemort commanded. "Leave and remember what happens to those that fail."

The mass of figures draped in black robes shuffled away from the room, none wanting to appear to eager to leave the presence of their Dark Lord.

"Montague." The dark lord beckoned him over with a slender white finger.

Montague's step did not falter at Voldemort's summons, instead he turned away from his original destination; the door, and made his way over one of the most powerful sorcerers of all time.

His voice was empty as he spoke. "How can I serve you, my Lord?"

Voldemort said nothing, his eyes boring mercilessly into Montague's, trying to chip away at the shield that he didn't know was there.

The older wizard's voice was deceptively soft as he spoke. His wand twirled dangerously around his fingers, ready to strike whenever he deemed necessary. "There are many rumors surrounding you at the minute, boy. I know everything that concerns my death eaters. I make sure that I know how best to punish, to reward, to coerce them. It gives me power over them."

Montague remained silent, his gaze fixed on the glittering granite floor where he stood.

"I cannot have discord and discontent among my Death Eaters. An intelligent wizard such as yourself, I know, understands that. You can go far if you desist with your little games, boy.

But for now you need to learn your place."

The movement of his arm, the twirl of his wand was so sudden that even the years he had spent avoiding bludgers and catching quaffles on the quidditch pitch could not have prepared himself for the speed of Voldemort's curse.

"Crucio!"

The hex flew towards him with unnatural speed, slamming into his body and squeezing the very air from his lungs. The skin on his body began to feel impossible tight and hot as if it was being scorched by the flames of hell. Muscles screamed in agony as pain slashed through them and his bones felt as if they were being torn apart all over his body. Unbearable pressure was building in his head, pounding away at his nerves in an exaggeration of the worst migraine that he had ever felt and his heart beat echoing in his ears at it beat furiously in his chest.

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"So? How did it go?" Kat asked as soon as Angelina entered the apartment.

Angelina paused on the threshold of her home, surprised to see Kat sitting up waiting for her. But on reflection it was typical of Kat to do that. Closing the door and sliding the bolt across to lock it Angelina didn't speak, instead preferring to unbuckle the sandals that she had been wearing that evening and pushing them up against the wall. The cloak followed suit and was tossed over the back of the closest wooden chair that was tucked up under the dining table. Clearing her throat, she stuttered out a few words. "I …um…that is…what are you doing here?"

Kat shifted her position from her place on the sofa, turning so that she could see Angelina more clearly. "Give me a swirl then, girl!" The younger sister ordered, motioning with her finger. "You look beautiful, very sophisticated and sexy, very classy." Kat complimented her, a wistful look in her eyes as she regarded her sister.

"Well couldn't let you and Emmy down, now could I?"

"You sure knocked their socks off, I'll bet!" Kat hooted.

"Whose socks?"

"Both of 'em. Speaking of 'em, where's the aristocrat? 'Cause if I were a man and not related, you wouldn't be going home alone if at all that's for sure!"

"Kat!" Angelina scolded, "Only you would say something like that!"

"Yep, that's why you love me? She joked.

"Really, and here I was thinking that it was because you were so demure and modest."

Kat snorted, "When have I ever been 'demure and modest?'"

Rolling here eyes Angelina flopped down by Kat on the sofa, "I was being sarcastic dimwit! Anyway what are you doing here?"

"I finished work, so I'd thought I'd see how your evening went."

"It was good," Angelina told her.

"It can't have been that good since you're home alone!" Kat teased.

"Well, what about you, why aren't you out living it up tonight?"

"Thought that I'd be the supportive and caring sister and find out how your evening went."

"Don't play innocent with me! Think I don't know that you were going to report back and tell the rest of the family."

Kat clasped her hands over her heart, falling back against the arm rest, her face a picture of comical horror and betrayal. "I would never! How? How!" She wailed, "How could you believe that I, your own sister could betray you?" They burst into gales of laughter, tears pouring from their eyes; sure it wasn't the funniest thing in the world, but it light and carefree and theirs.

"I'm going to make a drink, do you want one?" Angelina offered.

"As long as it isn't coffee, I really need to get some sleep." Angelina nodded, she knew that her sister's job was demanding and much to everyone's surprise Kat was surprisingly successful at what she did. But Angelina worried about her younger sibling, she worked hard but she also played hard too.

Standing, Angelina moved across past the dining table and down the hallway to the kitchen. Pausing at the kitchens entrance she turned back to Kat, "Do you want me to whip you up something qui-"

A scream tore from her throat as knees buckled beneath her sending her crashing to the floor. She didn't register that she scream she had heard was her own until pain unlike she had ever felt before ripped through her body, whimpers and cries, choked screams and gasps for air were pulled from her body as she curled up into a fetal position on the floor.

Kat lurched up from her chair hearing the tremendous thud and scream of her sister. "Angie? Angie?" Her hand reached out to touch her sister but was withdrawn as if burnt when her sister's torment only increased.

Angelina's fingers scrabbled over the floor, fists clenching and unclenching as if searching for something that she could dig her fingers into. It was so difficult to breathe! So difficult! So painful! She whimpered. Oh gods, it was unlike anything that she had ever felt before. Vaguely she heard her name being called by a hazy voice that seemed familiar. Hands were touching her even as she told them to stop! There was something cold and heavy around her throat but it provided little comfort. There was a burning sensation on her lower back that was reminiscent of when Montague had been proving a point but this was intensified a hundred times.

What was happening to her? What was causing this?

As quickly as the pain started, it stopped, leaving her as a heaving sweating mass lying on her kitchen floor. She was dimly aware of the fact that she was shaking, trembling throughout and that her eyes were still squeezed shut. Pain still lingered, but it was a dull aching sensation now, nothing like the hot sharp pain previously.

"Angie? Angelina talk to me, I need you to talk to me, ok?" Fingers pressed to her pulse point scaring Kat even further as felt how fast her sisters heart was beating.

She moaned, her mouth dry, even her teeth were throbbing,

"Angelina?" Cool hands smoothed over her brow and swept strands of sweat soaked hair back from her face. "Angelina talk to me, oh god, please talk to me?" Kat's voice was raspy with unshed tears, struggling to get a hold of herself she slipped into her professional role. "Angelina, I need you to talk to me otherwise, I'm going to call an ambulance right now whether it's magical or not."

"No! No a-ambulance." She protested.

"Ok, ok no ambulance, no hospital." Kat reassured her, "Do you have anything her that you can take?"

"Ch-? Angelina broke off, coughing and clutching at her tender stomach. "Chest."

The soothing hands were gone from her body in an instant as Kat rushed into her sisters room, bringing the wooden chest with her and pulling the various bottles of shapes and potions out alongside Angelina on the floor.

"What am I looking for?"

"Silver?"

"The silver colored one," Kat mumbled sorting through the pile. "Muscle relaxant?"

"Uh-huh," groaned Angelina. Strong hands pulled her upright so that she was slumped against them, the small vial pressed against her lips as she parted them and the potion was poured down her throat, Kat rubbing her back helping her to swallow.

Another vial was pressed to her lips, "Here take this as well it's a pain killer." Obediently, she opened her mouth once again, gagging as the potions touched her tongue before disappearing deeper into her body.

Her body remained against that of her sister, although she still trembled.

How Kat managed to get her into her room and on her bed remained a mystery, but distant memories remained long after of being half carried, half dragged.

The gray dress was taken off and a damp flannel was wiped over her skin, cleaning off the sticky sweat and patted dry using a fluffy towel without comment. Without even being asked Kat wiped around the tender area of her back, the soft flannel being kept well away from the painful area. A clean nightshirt was slipped on and the buttons done up, tears in her eyes as she watched her younger sister dress her like some useless doll, her hands still to shaky to hold a towel much less fiddle with buttons.

Cotton wool balls were used to remove the smeared makeup and her hair was released from the elegant knot and pulled out of her face in a single thick braid. With a sigh she was inserted between white bed sheets that felt cool against her heated skin.

Angelina felt the bed dip as Kat joined her, and she rolled over to face her sister. Was it worth it? She asked herself. Was the deal with Montague, the pain she just felt worth the safety of her family? Kat's hand reached out to brush a strand of hair back from her cheek. The two sisters lay silently, each taking comfort in the others presence. Yes, Angelina decided, as she looked back at Kat. It is worth it.

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Montague glanced at Nott shaking his head. "It doesn't make any sense. Flint in is exile now until he manages to redeem himself and Voldemort's temper has cooled."

"Then who does? Malfoy hasn't the strength, Warrington isn't really interested, and the others they aren't good enough. What they have accomplished is little that will attract his attention or that of any other senior Death Eaters."

"I know that! Of course, I fucking know that!" Montague thundered. He was not in a good mood and this recent predicament that he now found himself in was not helping matters. He was sore and he was tired and irritable and had felt nothing that told of Angelina's current mood. At least when she was pissed at him he knew, but it was disquieting, this shield that she seemed to have erected keeping him from her thoughts and emotions.

"Don't snap at me!" Nott warned him, his voice raised, "Because this early in the morning you do not want to hack me off!"

The two Slytherins stood at a stand off, each annoyed at various aspects in their lives that caused them to be hiding in the dark just before dawn frantically trying to find a way that would save their skins.

With a sigh Nott broke the silence; patience was a virtue that he just didn't possess. "Who do you think?"

Rubbing his neck Montague took a seat. "Warrington."

"Warington! That's ridiculous!"

"Is it? Why?" He queried.

"Because its Warrington!" Nott exclaimed. "What has he done? He's ambitious even for a Slytherin! A Death Eater! But he doesn't really have any interest in the grittier side of court."

"Unlike you?"

"Hey! I have finesse…just a different kind…Warrington's all for the occasional spot of torture and rape—but not so much in the blood and screaming side. He prefers lust potions, and imperio! His favorite version of torture is sexual. Why would he petition for the command of a few small raiding parties?"

"He's after something, or someone. But the question is who?"

The two men sat, one sitting, the other leaning his hip against the small table remained in reflective silence, willing their brains to make something to jump out at them as they listed thought and past occurrences.

"You need to instigate yourself in one of these raiding parties."

"Why me? What about you?"

"No." Montague told him, a sneer on his face. "Warrington and I don't have the best history. He'd never trust me."

"Then what makes you think that he'd trust me. We're known acquaintances, but have rarely been seen out a few times together."

"Then we must rid him of notions of friendship between us."

"You think that its that important?"

"Yeah, Warrington's a fool, but he's not a complete fool."

"He must be a half wit then." Nott smirked.

Montague returned the expression. "An insane half wit," he confirmed.

"But then they do say that insanity and delusions are dangerous weapons." Mused Nott, a spark in his eyes as he made his way to the exit. "After all, that's how you've survived for so long, isn't it?"

--------------------------------

"You going off soon?" Angelina asked her sister.

"In a minute, here take this," Kat instructed handing her a vial full of a blue potion.

"What is it?"

"It will help with the burning on your back."

"How do you know about that?"

Kat grinned up at her as she tied the laces to her shoes. "Good set of books you've got, Angie. You've got my pager number if anything happens and you need me right?" She continued as she saw her sister nod. "Good. The hot water is on, and the bath is running so don't forget to turn it off in a few minutes. I've poured a load of Radox in there as well to help your muscles relax and so that you can sleep for a bit more this afternoon. Take it easy, OK? You're still shaking a little."

Angelina nodded as she agreed with Kat. "I will. I'll be fine, don't worry."

Kat shot her an inscrutable look, but remained silent. The shrill ring of the phone broke the silence and startled each of them a little. "I'll get it." Crossing the room Kat picked up the phone to answer. "Hello? Oh hey Emmy…nah I stayed over last night. Yeah I'm fine, busy with work, y'know? Yeah Angie's here, but she's not feeling to well…flu I think, she's aching all over and is complaining of a headache, and she's shaking a little, bit weak, but she'll be fine. I dosed her up a few minutes ago. Did you want to speak to her? No she's awake…ok, one second, speak to ya later."

Her hand slipped across the speaker so Emmy wouldn't hear what she said to Angie. "Don't chat for too long, get some sleep and try to eat something light, alright? She wants to speak to you about Josh's birthday party next week. Right, well I'm off. I'll give you a call later ok?" She pressed a brief kiss on Angelina's cheek and was out of the flat seconds later.

"Hey Emmy," Angelina said.

"Angelina! How are you feeling? Sorry to hear that you've got the flu."

"Me too! How are you? I haven't spoken to you in ages!"

"I've been busy, just as you have obviously!" There wasn't any sarcasm in the voice, in fact Emmy seemed to be overjoyed about the fact that her little sister was beginning to have a life of her own.

"Yeah, sorry about that," she apologized.

"Don't be! Just tell me who he is!"

"Sorry?"

"Angelina, I'm your sister and a married woman. Since Josh is still a little young to nag about settling down and tying the knot, you're first choice! Now, I know there's a mystery man your life, although why you felt that you could tell Josh and not me I don't know. You must have known that it would get back to me eventually! All I could get out of Josh was that you had a new friend called Alex who really seems to have impressed him. Apparently he knew all about quidditch and because of that was a hit. Introduced him to one of the beaters or batters, whatever they're called.

But if he knows about quidditch, I presume he would have gone to Hogwarts, but I can't remember you ever mentioning anyone named Alex."

"Alex?" Her mind was blank for a second, "Oh! You mean Montague."

"Montague? Wasn't he the one that pushed you off your broom?"

"Why does everyone bring that up?" Her free hand was thrown into the air in annoyance. "Is that the one thing that you remember from my Hogwarts days?"

"Angelina!" The voice the other end of the line pleaded.

"Nope, I'm ill, you're supposed to be nice to me." She coughed for effect.

"Fine. But only till you're better! But one question! What's he like?"

A grimace passed across her face briefly. "Oh he's something alright. Bye Emmy."

"No! Don't hang up! Josh's party is next Sunday. About four?"

"I'll be there, but no doubt I'll speak to you later. Bye."

"Bye."

Tossing the phone onto the couch, Angelina moved slowly towards the bathroom ready to sink into a hot bath and wish the world away.

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"Were there many injuries?" Montague asked referring to the battle as they strode down the hallway of 12 Grimmauld Place.

Dumbledore gave a small sigh, "As there always are in wars, Montague."

Entering a small dark, dank room the two wizards didn't pause to look around, although Montague's face did crease in disgust as he took a seat on a grimy chair, dark and rotten with age. Dumbledore followed suit a few seconds later after pulling a large text from the bookshelf.

"Miss Johnson looked very well last night." The headmaster commented.

Montague didn't speak and stared back at him from behind hidden eyes. Fingers drummed carelessly on the arm rest while the other supported his head, showing him to be, from all appearances a very bored young man.

"Unusual tattoo on her back, I must say that it crossed my mind as to how you managed to persuade her to allow such a thing that many witches find quite barbaric these days."

"My persuasion methods are not up for discussion at this moment in time." Montague replied curtly. "However, if I find myself overwhelmed by the sins that I have committed and in the need of a confident I'll know who to turn to."

"I had my reservations about this scheme, Montague. I hope that they are unfounded,"

Montague sneered at the elderly headmaster, "Miss Johnson has been more than willing to assist me in various aspects of our ruse. Dare I say that she has, on some level, enjoyed our entanglement and the reactions that it has caused."

"And these feelings, I have no doubt, come from your meddling."

Montague gave a small shrug accompanied by a careless roll of his eyes. "You were the one that signed her death warrant," he reminded Dumbledore with a malicious smile. "Not in the literal sense of course," he hastened to add mocking Dumbledore, "merely a figure of speech."

"She had better stay that way Montague. Alive. You dragged her into your world make sure she comes out of it."

"I know how to protect what's mine." Montague sneered, eyes burning.

"That's just my point!" Dumbledore shouted, his voice thundering throughout the room. "She's not yours!"

Montague still sat, a defiant gleam in his eyes, though his hands were resting on the arm rest of the chair and he no longer slouched, but remained ram rod straight in his seat. "From a G_ryffindor's_ point possibly," he said derisively. "But from a Slytherin's? Now that's a whole different matter."

"She is a human being, Montague! You do not own her!"

"If you want her to come out of this war alive, you had better start hoping and praying that the Death Eaters believe her to be mine! Even with my protection she is still in a dangerous position. They would do to her what they do to spies!" He hissed. "You cannot understand the Slytherin mind, what drives us, the way we think, how we view the world. So don't sit there, preaching to those you don't understand. Because without us; your spies, or your dark contacts throughout the world you would have been long dead, and wouldn't stand a chance now. 'Know thy enemy.'" He quoted. "You don't know yours or what lengths they will go to so that they might serve their lord and through him, themselves.

"You speak of the light, but you know nothing of thrum of blood magic and the way it moves through your body. You know nothing of the high from casting the Unforgivables. You cannot comprehend the excitement that is felt from mastering a spell more powerful than oneself, or how it feels to stand over another wizard that would strike you down and kill them in your place.

"You wizards of the so called light cannot understand the dark that resides within them because they have never had parents that ensure they know how best to use it. A powerful wizard is able to use both white and black magic. There must be balance."

"We are not talking about wizards and the uses of dark magic! We are talking about a woman! About Angelina Johnson! Your involvement with her was supposed to be an act! You?re beginning to confuse it with reality! You might not have a conscience and care what happens to her, but other people do!" Dumbledore argued, a hard light flickering in his eyes.

"It is an act. But let's cut the crap, Dumbledore, and speak plainly. We both know that I don't give a shit what other people think of me. I'm going to do what I want to do and to hell with the rest of the world. I will win this war no matter how I do it. If you don't like the answers that I give you, do not fucking well ask the questions!

"Go back to your perfect illusion with Potter and the Weasleys and worry and fuss over them! 'Cause unlike me they do have morals!" His speech was harsh, and filled with venom directed at the headmaster of Hogwarts School of Magic. His body had remained in its chair, but its tension noticeable by the hard set of his jaw, and lips that were drawn tight in a grim line.

When the younger man spoke again, his tone was abrupt. "Flint belongs to Lestrange for a few more weeks and Voldemort's pissed with the failed raid. Warrington's after someone, and has been given the task of organizing the next raid and its revels if successful. When I know more I'll be sure to contact you." He sneered as he hissed the last sentence. His announcement was followed by his departure, dark robes swirling around his legs as left the room in swift strides, his footing sure and measured. Black polished shoes hitting the wooden floor with sharp cracks each time he set a foot on the floorboards. The text Dumbledore had pulled from the shelf gripped tightly in his left hand.

Dumbledore's shoulders sagged as he watched Montague leave their meeting room. He glanced up as Snape entered a few minutes later, but didn't move his position.

"Not quite the reaction you were hoping for Headmaster?" The Potions Master drawled as he took an empty seat.

Dumbledore gave weary sigh. "No. It didn't go as I had hoped. He seems quite fixated on the fact that Miss Johnson belongs to him."

"By Slytherin rights she does." Snape answered, with a shrug of his shoulders. "Appalling by your standards I know," He told the headmaster after receiving an angry look. "But we never really followed the traditions of Gryffindors, Ravenclaws or Hufflepuffs; in love and marriage as well as the path of the light." He gave a snort, "What we want we take. From what was spoken after the ball, it would appear that he has got her. I don't think he quite realizes that as much as he owns her, she has some control over him as well. Who knows, maybe she doesn't even realize it. As far as Montague is concerned, Angelina belongs to him, and he will not let go easily."

"And so it will end with bloodshed." Dumbledore prophesied with resignation.

"As is the ending of all Slytherins," answered Snape.


	17. Chapter 16

A/N: Well here it is the long awaited chapter! Thankyou to Nikki, Rupert's honey, Aravis'sSilverQuill, Mercurian Orchid, Evilevergreen, Cupiditatis, dabaddestchic, AureliaMalfoy, vegiegurl, spiciness, rockyroad rocks, FatedtoFall, and CK4! It's been great to hear what you think about the storyline. I'm a few chapters ahead, but whether I stick with them is a different thing, there were loads of um's and ah's over this chapter as it is...and while on that subject I warn you now, this chapter includes Death Eaters celebrating, hence it is dark and graphic, I'm sure you can imagine what they get up to so if your offended by any of that then do not read this chapter. (Although it is vital to the plot.)

Another big thankyou to my wonderful beta WriterLady1031!

Let me know what you think! Enjoy!

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The apartment was quiet as Montague entered it. The lights were switched off, and the door had been locked, prior to his entry. The streetlight outside was casting a soft glow in through the window, illuminating the edges of the tables and chairs. A quiet hum came from the kitchen courtesy of the fridge.

The spells and wards which had been cast around the building and her apartment recognized him; the magic parting before him, and then crashing down as he moved through the barriers that kept him from her. Nothing would ever keep him from her, not even magic of her own casting, for they would know his own magic that resided in his blood, would know it because it was linked to her and give way before him.

The more modern magic of today was diluted; a mere of a shadow of what once existed. New rights for witches, new laws that had been passed to "protect" them put them in the way of danger. His grandmother had seen that. She had seen that the abandonment of such magic would cause the wizarding world to weaken. And she was right to an extent. The magic that Voldemort used was beyond comprehension for most families bar those with pureblood, those that still lived those old traditions that others called barbaric.

But younger generations called for freedom, and they had received it. And now they were going back on their words. They had called for freedom, freedom to live their lives as they wanted but they were naïve enough to think that everyone had the same aims and goals, the same beliefs. They had called for freedom and then been cowed by the witches and wizards it had produced.

That was why it was the purebloods that had been sorted into Slytherin; they understood the values of old, of tradition designed to keep families safe. They understood that they would never be equality whether it would be of that between man and woman, or religious beliefs, or different cultures. Equality was something that people fought for, but would never be anything more than a dream. Montague understood that, knowing that man, muggle or wizard would forever try to destroy a fellow human being. It was a survival instinct to ensure that they would be the ones to live and prosper.

His feet were silent as Montague made his way throughout the hallway and living room area into Angelina's bedroom. He stopped in the doorway, and stood looking at her for a minute. The only movement of her body was the gentle rise and fall of her chest. Moving closer, he studied the scene before him.

White sheets had slipped down in the night, and were hooked around her hips. A blue shirt covered the top half of her body, the arms rolled up just beneath her elbows. Her right hand was curled up under the pillow, the left stretched out in front of her, as if she was reaching for someone.

The skin on her face was smooth, free from lines of worry and hate that he had seen etched on her face each time that she had looked at him. Here she was real, content. There was nothing to hide from, nothing to hide.

The emerald that hung around her necked peak out at him, glinting in the soft light that snuck in through the gap in the curtains. His fingers reached out to touch it, and after a few seconds he cradled the stone in his hand, clenching a fist around it. She shifted in her sleep, Angelina's body moving closer to his. He waited with bated breath for her to settle back down, not wanting her to wake yet. He would have to soon, but not yet. He could watch her for a while longer.

Montague gave a small start as her hand moved once again, coming up to cover his hand that clasped the emerald around her throat. Her hands were tiny compared to his, delicate, the skin was soft; the nails trimmed short, but had more than once drawn blood from his body. His in comparison looked awkward and clumsy, they weren't particularly large and square, but they weren't refined like the other purebloods. It was in part due to quidditch, the game had taken its toll on his body, but it was his hands that had changed the most. Hard calluses that even his gloves hadn't prevented as well as small scars from scratches and splinters. He'd never really noticed it before, but now, her hand next to his, the differences were obvious and he felt slightly foolish that he'd never noticed before.

The hand covering his slipped away, reaching once again out to him, and he felt bereft of its loss, his skin still tingling from where she'd touched him. Letting the necklace go, his hand reached up of its own accord to cradle her cheek. Her head twisted round towards his hand, and before he could pull away a gentle kiss was pressed against his palm, before she turned away from him. Her lips felt as if they had burnt him, and when he pulled his hand away an instant later he almost expected to see a blistering scar, angry and red.

But, the good humor that had unknowingly crept upon him while watching Angelina sleep was swept away in a tidal wave of jealous fury. This was Weasley's doing! She'd never have touched him or have kissed him if she'd known it was him by her bed! Hell, she didn't have any type of physical contact with him if she could help it! She was dreaming of the Weasel, imagining that it him that was sat by her bed watching her sleep like a love sick Hufflepuff!

He was a Slytherin! A Montague! And yet he had missed the signs! After her little rendezvous with the Weasel she had been all over him, hanging off his arm, teasing, tempting, her body begging him to fuck her as she had kissed him in front of her ex-fiancée and his current whore! Just like she was now, sending him maddening signs, trying to play him!

The witch before him awoke with a gasp as the stone around her neck turned hot, she blinked, her hand around the stone, her eyes adjusting to darkness of the room. A shriek escaped Angelina's lips as she noticed the figure by her bed, her body relaxed slightly as she recognized the features, and then tensed again, confused and worried as to why Montague had come to visit her at this time of night.

Even in the darkness of the room, and the shadows he was hidden in, she could see the ire in his eyes, the straight lines of his body as he watched her. Fingers shot out, grabbing her chin in a punishing grip and much to her later dismay, she gave a whimper as lips covered hers in a brutal kiss. Montague's tongue forced its way past her own, dominating her tongue, and taking possession of her mouth.

Something inside told her to relax and she obeyed, allowing her body to become passive as she stopped fighting the intrusive kiss. She was rewarded almost immediately, as if sensing she had submitted to his will Montague's grip on her jaw slackened and his hand burrowed up into her hair. His frenzied kiss slowed down to a more familiar pace that was no less brutal or demanding, nor less possessive, but almost leisurely.

Angelina's stomach cramped as Montague pulled back, his eyes fixed on her tender lips that she knew would be swollen and bruised. Dark eyes flickered up to meet her own, and then across to her hair before meeting her questioning gaze again.

"Get up, get dressed." Montague ordered his voice low and raspy. The hand burrowed into Angelina's hair was pulled out, and he pushed himself off the bed he was leaning on as if in disgust. "Now," he commanded sternly.

The snide comment escaped Angelina's mouth so fast that her brain hadn't registered the words. "And here I was thinking that my part in our deal was to lie down and get undressed."

Monatgue's hand snapped around her wrist, and he hauled her up out of the bed and against himself. "I'm not like Weasley, darling," Montague snarled at her, "I don't need a bed to fuck you on, and I don't necessarily need your clothes off either. Now get dressed in black robes, and don't bother with putting on any other underwear. You won't be needing it."

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Bile burnt at the back of Angelina's throat as she surveyed the scene that lay before her. Various flashes of light skipped around the room, searching out those they had been created for, those that were destined to die before this night was out. Cries of agony and delirium rose to the sky along with those of ecstasy and the rabid laughter of death eaters, the sounds rose mingling into myriad of sound unlike she had ever heard before.

Everywhere she looked figures were clad in black robes, masks pushed up off their faces now balancing of the tops of their heads like she sometimes wore her sunglasses in the summer. Some of those forms didn't wear masks, their robes not shapeless, but fitted showing off every curve of their lush bodies. They were all different ages, all from different countries as their features depicted. For the most part they too were passed around throughout the death eaters, but behind their twisted features, their eyes sang with pleasure and lust as more than one man rutted between their thighs that night.

It was not only those whores that were being passed round either; muggles were too.

Her eyes drifted to the right where a woman was sprawled beneath a grunting death eater who was still masked, blood splattered on the white material, clinging proudly to the mask as a declaration of what had once been life. The woman's eyes stared at the ceiling unseeingly, and blonde hair became fused with red blood that seeped from her skull, her body jerking limply on the cold stone floor as the death eater continued to thrust into her.

She was dead Angelina realized, dead and still they defiled her body.

She should scream, protest and pull that animal from her body. She should do something! Anything! But what could she do? The death eaters wouldn't hesitate to do the same to her; they would laugh and jeer before overpowering her with both magic and sheer strength. She couldn't even cast any subtle spells to ease the suffering of those muggles around her for Montague had removed her wand and now held it in his safe keeping. The room swam before her, crowded with people that were worse than animals, the smell of blood and the presence of death. The sound of blood pumping though her veins echoed in her ears as the exhibition of death and rape pressed in around her, crushing the air from her lungs as she struggled to breathe.

"Angelina!" A voice called out to her, trying to get her attention. "Angelina!" She could barely hear her name being called over the thundering roar in her ears. "Angelina!" Her body jolted as a pair of hands grasped her shoulders, shaking her.

Issuing a soft curse, Montague pulled Angelina away from where they were standing and moved into the dark shadows around the edge of the room. Dark brown eyes stared at him, but did not see him, and her body sucked in shallow gasps of air rapidly. Her body was trembling now, her eyes darting round wildly.

"Sedo!" He hissed a small flick of his wrist and the spell was cast. Almost immediately he could see the difference. Her breathing slowed and became deeper, the fine tremors that he had been conscious of before had stopped and she stood still in front of him.

It was those eyes though that had been altered the most.

Brown eyes the color of coffee glared at him, and the Sytherin was astounded by the transformation in those dark depths. He wouldn't have recognized those eyes, would have sworn that they did not belong to her had he not the proof that she stood in front of him and had not moved since he had pulled her there. For he was the cause of such twisted feelings.

Hate.

Anger.

Helplessness.

Disgust.

All were apparent in her eyes as she looked at him.

Angelina's eyes were glassy with tears of anger. "You're worse than animals. All of you."

"All men are," Montague answered acknowledging her accusation.

"No. Not all men, just those here. How can you enjoy that? How can you stand to do that night after night, day after day? The torture? The murder? The rape? You make me sick."

"What did you expect, Angelina? In war this is what happens. Men are murdered, and the women are raped. And depending of the tastes of the killer either can happen to the children. It happened when the Romans invaded thousands of years ago, it happened when there were border disputes in Scotland hundreds of years ago, it's happening now, and will happen again in the next decade, or century or whenever there is a war because it is all part of it. Just be thankful that it isn't happening to you."

"So I'm just supposed to accept it?" She choked out in disbelief.

"No, you just have to deal with it because right now that is all you can do. Show them weakness and they will use it to devour you."

"I don't want to have to deal with it! There are women out there just like me that are being tortured and raped in the celebrations because the Brown family have been killed! I went to school with Lavender and now I'm at the celebrations for her death!"

"But they're not just like you, Angelina! That was their problem! There were born a muggle instead of a pureblood witch or wizard! Your father might have disgraced himself by retreating into the muggle world and marrying one of them, but right now that doesn't matter. You are a pureblood witch, and despite the fact that you were sorted into Gryffindor, it still makes you very rare for those death eaters searching for a wife."

"But I will not be able to marry one of them, will I? Your family crest has been printed upon my skin. Even your death will not release me!"

Yanking her around in front of him, Montague pushed his body fully against her, his hand reaching across her throat to hold her chin, turning Angelina's face this way and that, making sure that she could see all of the horrific deeds that were taking place as death eaters carried on oblivious to their conversation. "That's what you want to be released to? You want to end up like that woman you're protesting about? Beaten, raped and dead on a stone floor, blood and seed still warm and sticky on your thighs?"

She wanted to help them! She wanted to help them so badly that her body ached with need! But how could she save them! She could spare them death, but to live with the knowledge of what had happened to them? Even an Obliviate couldn't help them, for instinct stayed even when memory was gone. Forever would they be looking over their shoulders, avoiding the dark shadows and fearing unknown men. These women couldn't be saved, they could only be put together again, piece by piece until they resembled something whole, but they would never be complete again because of that missing piece the death eaters had stolen from them.

Only when Voldemort was dead would those untouched be safe from him, with what little innocence remained.

"You might be able to watch this," Angelina hissed at Montague, "But I can't. I won't pretend that this is acceptable."

"Welcome to the real world, Angelina! Nothing is acceptable to everyone!"

His grip loosened on her, and Angelina felt a smooth cool object being placed in her hand. The sharp edges dug into her palm as her fingers were closed around it. "Come out of this room, and turn left, follow the hallway down to end where it breaks off in two, turn left again, take the 2nd right and carry on until you get to the statue of Morgan Le Fay, there's a doorway opposite her, go behind the painting of the Salem Witch Trials, head straight across the floor of that room, then take the door on the left, follow the steps up the staircase, at the top there is a door, you'll need the key to unlock it, once you're in there make sure you lock it behind you."

A key? Montague was expecting her to get past his wards, which he would no doubt have up, with a key. "I'll need my wand, too."

"No you don't." Montague answered. "I'm not fool enough to give you your wand and then send you off in the opposite direction. Now," He carried on in measured tones, "take the key and go away like a good little Gryff or stay and find out just how hard death eaters play. It's your choice."

Immediately the arms that had previously held Angelina in place released her, the pressure and warmth along her back that Montague's body had provided disappeared and she was left feeling slightly cold, Montague wasn't a really a comfort, but with him pressed against her at least she was reminded that she wasn't alone. Turning to face him, Angelina felt a surge of panic race through her heart while her stomach contracted involuntary.

Indecision swamped Angelina's thoughts. Should she stay or go?

A couple of death eaters staggered past, forcing her to retreat back against the wall. They carried on oblivious, but their commotion was noted by a few others and Angelina felt their stares assessing her, those muggles here were dead whether they were still alive or not. But she wasn't, if she left now, she could do something to prevent this from happening again in the future.

'Go!' Her mind screamed full of common sense. 'Go!' But she would be abandoning those less fortunate than herself; how would she ever forgive herself?

----------------------------

Montague disappeared into the crowd, eager to blend in with the crazed death eaters that celebrated around him before Angelina would turn around, her expression questioning, trying to understand what he was telling her to do. He never should have brought her here. She should not be tainted by seeing such things. But this was the whole point of choosing her, to bring her into his world, to use her until she was no longer an asset to his spying. He should have known that she wouldn't be able to cope with it. That her eyes would give her away, but that was one of the things that he liked about her as well. That he could always look at her eyes and instantly know what she was thinking, what she was feeling.  
It was a downfall but also a strength because they would never suspect her to be dangerous to their side

"Montague." A pale hand beckoned him forward, and like the dutiful death eater he was, Montague stepped forward, smoothly changing his direction readying himself for another set of court games. Voldemort was positioned at the center of the far wall, where he was able to survey the room as a whole surrounded by more senior death eaters.

"My Lord." He greeted Voldemort, bowing his head before straightening so that he could keep his eyes on Voldemort.

"You appear to be without an escort."

"Indeed my lord, she has retired for the evening."

Cruel crimson eyes stared at him. "Unusual is it not, that she should retire rather than celebrate her lover's victory?"

"I believe that she finds such celebrations distasteful, my lord." Montague answered, his voice betraying nothing.

"Such a boring bothersome girl, I wonder why you keep her around Montague." A husky female voice said.

Voldemort sat back in the large chair he inhabited that resembled a throne, an indulgent smirk on his face as he allowed Bellatrix to tease Montague.

"Rest assured she has many admirable qualities." Montague told her coolly.

"What do we know of Montague's woman Bella?" Voldemort asked, speaking to the favored female death eater rather than the young wizard.

"She's a pureblood, although a disgraced one. Her father married a muggle a few years after her mother died. She was sorted into Gryffindor," she spat the word out with distaste, "and represented all they stood for. Dated a Weasley a few years ago, and once he chucked her, she disappeared off into the muggle world before being brought back by Montague."

"Tut tut." An icy voice drawled. Lucius Malfoy Montague knew, despite the mask that his the face. "A Weasley's leftovers?"

Montage smirked at him, this he was familiar with, being rude about those less fortunate than himself, especially the Weasleys. Giving a shrug of his shoulders, he spoke again. "Weasley's never had her like I have. Besides, she's only a new project." Montage slid the last comment in as if it meant nothing. But it was bait, and Voldemort himself snapped at it.

"Project?" The bony figure leaned forward once again, eyes alight with speculation.

"Muggles, and mud bloods, their minds and bodies break so easily. Angelina might be a pureblood, but she has very strong ties to her family, I am curious as to how much she can take, before I break her. I believe that she will be my most beautiful piece of work. However unlike the Lestranges I plan to break her without magic directly, she will, eventually blame herself, when she displeases me, I shall kill someone she holds dear. I will pick her apart piece by piece. And she will have no-one to blame but herself."

"And what exactly has the girl done to deserve such punishment?" Malfoy spoke again.

"Nothing Malfoy, this is an experiment, not revenge. I am not in the habit of mixing business and pleasure." He said meaningfully, Montague smirked inwardly. Malfoy might not have shown any signs of understanding, but Lestrange had and she knew of Malfoy's indiscretions.

"Mind games are sometimes much more invasive than physical methods." Voldemort commented. "I will be interested to see how this ends."

Montague bowed his head, his body appearing submissive, when he raised his face, there was a small smirk on his lips as if he was pleased by such a suggestion. "I shall endeavor to keep you informed my lord."

Voldemort gave a regal nod of his head, and shooed him away with an idle wave of his spindly hand.

Montague bowed his head again, and moved away as fast as courtesy would allow.

His cobalt eyes flickered throughout the room. Nott was off to the left, surrounded by death eaters, a whore sprawled out in his lap, although he wasn't paying any attention to her, merely twirling his wand with his fingers. His position didn't move when he saw Montague looking in his direction, instead his eyes flickered over to the door Angelina should have left through and back to Montague again.

Words were left unspoken, but the silent message anyone else would have missed told Montague all he needed to know.

-------------------

Torches lit up along the stone walls as Angelina made her way the long hallway with trepidation.

A shiver crawled along her spine, and her fingers curled tighter around the key that Montague had given her. Images of what she had seen in the large hall were burnt into the back of her eyelids, and a new picture burst into her minds eye each time she had the misfortune to close her eyes or blink.

The hairs on the back of her neck stood up, and Angelina's spine tingled, and she forced down the urge to look around and check that no-one was following her. At any other time the thought of someone following her around when she was alone in the place that Voldemort's death eaters affectionately called his court the idea wouldn't have seemed so strange. But to be followed while there were plenty of whores and muggles in the main room to be played with was absurd.

The thought didn't cease the nagging voice at the back of her mind as Angelina carried on her journey with hesitant footsteps, pausing to peer around corners and glance over her shoulder from time to time.

Turning another corner the corridor loomed before her eyes, disappearing down into the bleak darkness that she could not see past. The way she had come was swallowed behind her by darkness as two solitary torches keep the immediate darkness at bay.

Walking forward resolutely Angelina jumped to the right as she viewed the statue of Morgan le Fay. The stone figure was made all the more sinister as pale light from the torches illuminating the cold planes of her face, her eyes piercing despite the fact they were made from rock. She stood regally, shoulders back and spine straight, her chin tilted imperiously. Her figure was undoubtedly female, hips and breasts flared out from under her cloak, lips were plump and curved into at cruel smile while long wavy hair was depicted as flowing down across her shoulders. Her beauty was enhanced by the danger that surrounded her like the stone cloak.

Instincts told Angelina not to turn her back on the witch, not to ignore the figure even though she was long dead, her resting ground unknown and the statue a mere figure of the seductress that once existed.

Footsteps sounded from down the hallway, the sharp sounds echoing throughout the stone walls amplifying their sound.

Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. The sound of the steps didn't alter, but remained the same fast pace that only increased in volume.

The wooden torches that moved along with the figure came to life in a burst of flame and dissipated again as the figure moved on. Her fingers scrabbled along the paintings frame, searching for the catch that would swing it open and allow her to escape. Tearing her eyes away from the statue, Angelina stared down towards the figure that was approaching, her attention on the more serious of threats.

A strangled gasp broke free from Angelina's throat as she caught a glimpse of the mask that hid the face of her assailant. The spray of blood, still crimson in its color against the white mask brought memories of the woman in the hall to the front of her mind.

Clammy fingers found the latch, fumbling with it for precious seconds before Angelina felt the painting swing open, lurching through the passage, the picture slammed shut behind Angelina as she moved rapidly away from the passage and crossed further into the room. The painting was pulled open again, but even as it banged shut Angelina didn't spare a cursory glance behind her. Instead her feet tried to move quicker across the flagstone floor.

"Petrificus Totalus!" A voice rang out from behind her.

Her arms snapped to her sides and legs paused in mid flight as her body seized up and then toppled over. Her body careered into the stone floor, her face smacking the floor with a heavy crack, the rest of her fall muffled by the nondescript black robes that Montague had insisted she wear. Angelina's body was soon released from the curse though to her own amazement and that of the casters. A rush of heat washed throughout her body like that of a gentle wave taking the curse away with it as it retreated.

Pushing herself to her feet, Angelina met the floor one again as another shout of the elementary curse hit her. The same thing happened again, as within seconds she had control over her own limbs. An enraged growl was emitted from her attacker at his attempts to restrain her. The sound was different from the warning noise that Montague made that always made her think that he couldn't decide whether to kiss or kill her.

Angelina had only raised her body to her knees before she felt the death eater knock into her lower back, her kidneys taking the worst of the blow as she was pressed against the floor, the groves of the stone work digging into her hip as she was unable to move from beneath the weight that held her down. The death eater pulled his body off of her long enough to roll her over so that she could look up at his mask before trapping her once again. Struggling Angelina kicked out at him, her hips twisting and trying to buck him off.

"Locomotor Mortis!" The death eater snapped out the spell, having trouble moving his wand in the correct pattern as Angelina fought beneath his body.

She stilled beneath him, and the death eater had a brief rush of euphoria, but it quickly crumbled when the spell slid right off of her.

"Hold still!" He shouted, a hand fisting into her hair, smashing her head against the floor.

The protests crumpled as Angelina lay dazed beneath him. "So beautiful," he purred, whispering "Incarcerous!" Ropes shot out of his wand, binding her wrists together. He chuckled to himself. "So innocent and so pure," He told her. "He doesn't appreciate you like I do. He can't because he doesn't understand you like I do. No-one does. You were meant for me. He shall not have you!"

"He will not let you get away with this! He won't! Montague will kill you!" Angelina mumbled, her head spinning and throbbing as she tried to focus on the death eater, on something other than mind numbing fear. The voice sounded so familiar but she couldn't place it. Wriggling her wrists she felt the knots slacken, but she was unable to get them off.

"Don't say that!" He snarled, backhanding her across the face. "He will not keep you from me! Do you know how long I have watched you for? Do you? Of course you don't because you have never seen me!"

"You're mad!"

"But that's what love is, isn't it? Madness."

Fear swept through her body, and then the adrenaline kicked in. She was a Gryffindor! A strong woman of the modern world! There was no way that she would die cowering from scum that didn't deserve to litter the world. "No, love is not jealous or possessive. It is unselfish and accepting."

"No," the death eater countered, "love is all those things and more. Love is not one thing or the other, it is everything! You cannot twist it to suit you! So it fits into all those things that you see yourself wanting!"

"Right now the only thing I'm seeing is that your deranged! How could I want that?"

Thin bony fingers snapped out and dug into her chin, the dull finger nails biting into the soft flesh of her cheeks. Her face was pulled up to his, so it was only inches away from the white mask stained with blood. Spittle spotted her skin as he snarled his next words at her. "It doesn't matter if you want me or not!"

Hands slid down her chin, stroking at her throat in a mocking caress and squeezed her windpipe cutting off her oxygen supply. She fought against the hold, but could do little as her head was pushed but into the cobbled floor, and spots danced before her eyes as Angelina's gasps for air became more frantic. The hand released some of the pressure, allowing her to take a few gulps of the precious oxygen before closing off her windpipe again, teasing her, pushing her far enough and then pulling her back from the brink just in time.

Another was clutched at her robes, groping her body that lay beneath the thin material.

"What's this? No bra? What a naughty girl you are." The hand that had been clawing at her breast pulled away with a painful tug at her nipple and balled into a fist delivering another blow to her face. There was the distant sound of material ripping and the brush of cool air against Angelina's skin told her that it was her own clothing that had been surrendered to the death eater's will.

A clammy hand, sticky with more than sweat found her body once again. It crept over her body, clawing and gripping when ever it desired, sneaking lower and lower. The hand around her throat clasping at her with less control as its explorations of her body continued. Hysterical laughter bubbled beneath her skin, but she didn't have the air to release it. He'd kill her as he raped her. His orgasm, his "little death," would trigger her literal death.

Was this really how it would end? Was she to die completely helpless and immobile under the weight of an unknown death eater?

The hand had slipped down to her pants now, and fingers pulled the waist band away from her skin and then released it, watching as the white knickers snapped back into place on her skin.

"Didn't think it would be so easy to take you, I must say." The death eater snickered from behind his mask, his hand dropping lower again to cup her vagina and Angelina could do little to prevent his intrusion bar wriggling against his hold which only excited the monster above her all the more.

The passage way banged open, allowing Montague to catch the death eater's last words.

"Think again, Warrington!" The dark haired wizard spat, his features thick with rage. "Expelliarmus!" Montague lashed out with his wand to send Warrington crashing into the far wall after being thrown off Angelina. "You seem to have forgotten that I am very possessive of what I consider mine! Don't you remember the time my Nimbus was used without permission? And she _is_ mine, Warrington!" He snarled.

Warrington lay sprawled on the floor, trying to collect himself. His wand was gripped in his hand ferociously and fevered eyes darted around the room looking to escape. Montague would pay for this, by the gods he would!

"Deletrius!" Montague cursed and the wand in Warrington's hand disintegrated into ash.

But Montague's anger was not abated and revenge still shone with an unholy light from his eyes as they flickered across to Angelina's battered form, where she had pushed herself into a sitting position, hands tenderly cradling her throat as the witch wheezed trying to pull oxygen into her lungs. Commands were issued curtly, each with a deliberate flick from his wand accompanying them. Spells that would cut his blood supply from limbs, and curses that caused pus to pour from his eyes. His body was lifted from the floor, and slammed into the thick wall, the white mask cracking and falling to the floor.

Jesus. It really was Warrington Angelina realized. Montague hadn't been mistaken. That death eater was Warrington. Warrington had tried to rape her. It was him that had raped the dead woman in court.

His body was spun into the air once again, spinning round and round like those muggles who'd been attacked at the World Cup Quidditch Final. He shot up going even higher, his body colliding with the ceiling.

"Corpus Aestus!" Montague commanded, the spell striking Warrington in the center of his chest. The charm caused the body temperature to rise, so that it literally fried you brain, or perhaps due to the movement on Warrington's behalf, maybe it would become scrambled instead.

"Crucio!" A red light shone out of Montague's wand heading for the other death eater, on impact Warrington screamed his body shaking and convulsing on the floor where he now lay.

His form was almost unrecognizable, covered in boils and bruises, blood coating his skin and seeping into the torn black robes. His fingernails had been ripped from his fingers in a nasty curse, and although they hurt, they were the least of his problems at the moment.

"Be thankful that you have not killed her, or your life would be forfeit, death eater or not." An instant later and Warrington had been banished, to where was unknown but at that precise moment in time Montague didn't care.

He was breathing heavily from exertion and anger and the white hot flame of rage inside grew brighter as he took in the bloodied form of Angelina. He crossed the room to where she sat, mindful of the puddles of blood from Warrington—it would not do for him to slip. His movements were as always silent so it came as a shock to her when he crouched down next to her and spoke her name.

"Angel?"

Angelina flinched and her head unbidden shot up to look at him. Her eyes soon returned to looking at the floor, the fury in his eyes too great to bear. Did he really think that she had wanted this? Encouraged this?

Montague didn't speak again as her eyes remained glued to the floor spotted with blood. Disgust rose up as he took in the sight before him. Skin and flesh that merely hours before had been unblemished and free from bruises. 'The next time there was a raid or battle Warrington is a dead wizard,' he swore to himself.

Angelina's lip was split, a trickle of blood on her face from the cut. Her left eye was swollen and bloodshot, and Montague knew without a doubt that within the hour it would be swollen shut. A handprint had been left on her cheek, and fingerprints dotted her the skin on her chin and throat.

Her fingers were curled into the remains of the robes they had argued over earlier that evening pulling the tatters over her exposed body despite the fact that he was no stranger to her body. Montague reached out slowly not wanting to startle her, but the way she flinched at his touch was more painful than any words she could have flung at him. Her clutch on the dark robes increased and Angelina refused to let them go as Montague tried to pry her fingers out of the dark fabric. But, Montague was insistent, his fingers being were strong than hers. Now shock had set in and she trembled unable to control her own body. Brushing away the dark rags, the tips of Montague's fingers trailed over her skin, across the dark bruises, over the raised skin where cuts and abrasions had been inflicted. Pulling the fabric across her body closed Montague stood and removed his own outer robes, shrugging them off his own body and then draping it around Angelina.

Pulling it around her frame, he paused to button the shiny onyx buttons. Without a word he slipped an arm under her knees and with the other supporting her back, Montague picked Angelina off the cold floor and cradled her to his chest and set off for his quarters. Angelina made no sound of any kind. No sigh of relief. No whimper of pain as her sore body was further jostled. She merely closed her eyes, and hid her face in Montague's shoulder, breathing in his scent.

There was safety in his arms Angelina thought; only the kind that he could provide.

She knew it would not be so for anyone else.

And soon, when the two dark men met again in the heat of battle, all bets were off: Warrington would pay.


	18. Chapter 17

A/N: Aravis'sSilverQuill, Cupiditatis, vegiegurl, LongingforLlangarlia, Evilevergreen, w1cked angel, abbey, Nikki, da baddest chic, CocoTapioka, Rupert's honey, Polaris, angelface04, Ella Palladino, PixieDust05, KeshieShimmer, Jeje, Mercurian Orchid, TeahWeah, andDanielle, who all reviewed, I was completely overwhelmed by all your comments ande I hope you enjoy the new chapter, besure to let me know what you think!

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Chapter 17

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The warm water stung, irritating the multiple scratches littered over her body. It was soothing for uninjured body parts though, the water lapping at her skin, massaging her muscles as she moved. Montague picked her hand up out of the bathwater and wiped away at the dirt and blood with the flannel in his hand.

They hadn't spoken since the conversation in the hall where the vast majority of the sickening death eater revels were taking place.

He hadn't looked her in the eye either. She let her body be pulled up out of the dirty water, and then deposited on a fluffy bath towel to the side of the bath.

He had studied her entire body, his eyes running all over, taking in every detail of what the attack had done to her. He was drying her off with a white towel. He should have used a black one, she though distantly. The white one would show all the blood. Funny she had never though of him having white bath towels. Black ones of course, and green ones as well. But white, white just seemed a little too innocent for him.

He could do all of this, but he could not look her in the eyes. Or perhaps he refused to do so. Perhaps he believed that she had lead Warrington on.

Angelina's stomach clenched at the thought of the death eater. She would never have thought it of him. But then the thought of Montague being capable of what he was doing now never crossed her mind. She had known that Warrington wasn't a good sort; he was in Slytherin after all. And the way he had looked at her and touched her at the Ministry Ball made her skin crawl. But still, this was man was the boy that she had gone to school with. They'd shared classes and detention alike; played quidditch against one another. He'd been a part of her life, a constant in the background during the seven years spent at Hogwarts.

She flinched; the sharp pain of a cut being treated brought her back to the present. She looked down to find Montague dabbing a healing potion on the offending abrasion. Her eyes moved away from him, and gazed at the shredded rags that had at one point been her robes for the evening. Montague bit back a growl as he applied the healing potion to the relatively small cut on Angelina's hip. Glancing up at her, he followed her line of sight to see what she was looking at. Anger flared inside as he glanced at the ripped robes. He'd been so bloody busy setting everything up concerning Voldemort and the more senior death eaters that he hadn't paid much attention to how the death eaters his own age would react. He really hadn't thought they would be stupid enough to go against him, but that was his first mistake! He'd underestimated the bloody bastards.

Although he would have made his point with Warrington now, so all he would have to worry about was the retaliation.

Standing, Montague took a step back, and picked up a shirt he left on the counter. It was far too large for her frame, the short sleeves coming down as far as her elbows, the hemline falling to mid thigh. Fastening the buttons he looked up once again, but Angelina wasn't looking at him.

The fire crackled merrily in the fireplace of his room, and Montague ushered Angelina over to the bed which had already been turned back.

His hand was warm on her back, his body heat easily making its way through the thin silk. A wave of contentment coursed through her, right down to the tips of her toes making them tingle. She felt safe and calm despite what had just happened, and Angelina pushed away the nagging feelings at the back of her mind. If she focused on those then thoughts about what had happened with Warrington would arise. The thought slipped out of her mind as quickly as it had entered it.

The bed covers were pulled up around her as Angelina was tucked in, and she rolled over on to her side facing the wall, her back to Montague.

This was _his_ fault, and he was acting like it was _hers_. Warrington would never have had he chance to come after her if Montague had never dragged her into his world kicking and screaming.

The quiet opening of a door alerted Angelina to the fact that Montague was exiting the room.

The door soon shut behind him and she was left by herself.

Alone.

--------------

Annoyance shot through Montague as he regarded his current situation. He quickly pushed it away though, and thoughts of killing Warrington calmed his mood and put him into a better frame of mind. He couldn't afford anger right now, he could not let emotions cloud his judgment. He had to keep his mind clear, focused.

He could not very well kill Warrington yet anyway. If he did that he would sign his own death warrant. Voldemort liked competition in the ranks, but not if it turned fatal. It was fine for Voldemort to kill and torture death eaters, but they were not to turn on each other.

Damn! Warrington was a bastard but he knew where to hit. Angelina wouldn't even look at him now, flinched when he tried to touch her as if it had been him that had struck those blows Warrington had rained down upon her.

"You found her?" Nott asked as he entered the room.

Montague nodded once, and tilted his head back to take another swig of his drink. He glanced to the bottle. It was a good whiskey, nearly twenty years old. Not the oldest in his collection, but it was a good liquor for any credible man to have in his possession.

"Malfoy was looking for Warrington, don't suppose you know what happened to him by any chance?" Nott crossed the room and helped himself to a tumbler if whisky without an invitation.

"Does anyone know what happens to someone if they're banished?"

" It's like that, is it?"

"Yeah. It's like that." Montague tossed another mouthful of the amber liquid down his throat. "I need you to keep a close eye on him. Once he turns up even if he so much as changes his socks I want to know. I don't care if you don't think its important I want to know."

Nott raised an eyebrow at the order, but ultimately nodded his head in agreement.

"Is she alright? She didn't look too good in the midst of the evening's entertainment. For a moment she looked like she didn't know what to do when you walked away."

"She didn't know what to do, that's why I made the decision for her."

"And that decision was by walking away?" Amused incredulity colored Nott's voice and there was a wry smirk on his face.

"You've got to be cruel to be kind."

"Amen to that." Finishing the remaining drink in his glass Nott stood and put the empty tumbler on the sideboard. "I'm off to bed." He announced.

"Little early to be retiring already, isn't it?"

"Who said anything about sleep? Beds have many other uses Montague, thought a wizard like you would be knowledgeable on such things." The young wizard grinned at him. "I'm off to find a woman."

"Make sure she's clean!" Montague called out as Nott passed through the doorway. Merlin knows what some diseases those women carried.

"Wouldn't have her if she wasn't!"

A small snort of skepticism escaped Montague at the younger wizard's escapades. Nott's trysts with women were legendry among the younger wizards. As was his silver tongue. Women fell over him, doing the most ludicrous things to catch his attention. And they might succeed for an evening, but by dawn he would be bored and only to happy to be on his way.

"_Accio_ book." A leather covered hard back first edition flew from the shelf into his waiting hands. His wand was placed within easy reaching distance of his hand next to his drink. Flicking the book open, his eyes scanned the various poems.

The muffled sounds of feet on the thick rug to the side of his chair drew his attention away from the book, and Montague looked up to find Angelina stood before him. Her face was solemn and he could tell from the way she was shifting her weight from foot to foot, and nibbling on the her swollen bottom lip that she was nervous. He frowned; she shouldn't be out of bed. Not yet at any rate. As she turned away, her eyes downcast Montague caught the pain shining from her eyes, his hand shot out to capture her wrist. Turning around she didn't look at him, her eyes going to where his hand was wrapped loosely around her slender wrist. Lose enough not to hurt at any rate, not so lose that she would be able to pull it free without him allowing it.

"Angel?" Montague asked his voice soft in a way that she hadn't heard it before.

The tone of his voice, and the way that he had referred to her helped make the decision she had been lying in bed debating since he had left her alone. Lowering herself cautiously into Montague's lap she allowed her body to relax as his arms pulled her closer and settled her against his chest.

A kiss was brushed against her temple as she pressed her face against his neck. One arm slid to it was wrapped around her body and the other reached out to pick up the book he'd put down.

"_Had we but world enough, and time,  
__This__ coyness, lady, were no crime.  
We would sit down, and think which way  
__To__ walk, and pass our long love's day.  
Thou by the Indian Ganges' side  
__Should'st__ rubies find: I by the tide  
Of Humber would complain. I would  
Love you ten years before the flood__  
And you should, if you please, refuse  
Till the conversion of the Jews.  
My Vegetable love should grow_  
_Vaster then empires, and more slow.  
An hundred years should go to praise  
Thine eyes, and on thy forehead gaze.  
Two hundred to adore each breast  
But thirty thousand to the rest.  
An age at least to every part  
And the last age should show your heart:  
For, lady, you deserve this state;  
Nor would I love at lower rate."_

She pressed her cold lips on the heated skin on Montague's throat, trailing them down to his collar bone. He had stiffened beneath her and as he paused in his reading, Angelina caught his Adams apple between her teeth, biting down on it gently for a second before releasing it.

Montague was silent for a moment, before he resumed reading to her aloud as he tried to ignore what Angelina was doing to his body. She obviously upset and over tired, there was no way on earth she'd be doing this to him otherwise.

"_But at my back I always hear  
Time's winged chariot hurrying near__  
And yonder all before us lie  
Deserts of vast eternity."_

Her lips traveled up to his ear, Angelina's teeth pulling gently at the soft lobe.

"_Thy beauty shall no more be found__  
Nor, in thy marble vault, shall sound  
My echoing song; then worms shall try  
That long-preserved virginity:  
And your quaint honor return to dust;  
And into ashes all my lust_."

Clearing his throat, Montague shifted in the seat.

She was upset.

"_The grave's a fine and perfect place__  
But none, I think, do there embrace_."

Soft lips dropped down against sensitive skin on his jaw, and unable to stop himself, Montague tilted his head allowing the witch in his lap better access. Teeth nipped at the taunt skin, lips soothing the reddened flesh.

And very emotional.

"_Now, therefore, while the youthful hue  
Sits on thy skin like morning dew_,"

A small hand crept up to cup the side of his face, fingers slipping into his hair where they tugged gently at the short silky strands that slipped through her hands far too quickly.

Extremely vulnerable.

"_And while thy willing soul transpires  
At every pore with instant fires,_"

Nimble fingers were pulling at the front of his robes, and then pushing the folds of fabric out of the way so that she could reach the shirt hidden beneath.

Unbelievable distraught.

"_Now let us sport us while we may__  
And now, like amorous birds of prey,_"

The small fiddly buttons of his shirt were being undone. And then the tips of her fingers were skating lightly over his chest as gentle as a butterfly.

Emotionally overwrought.

"_Rather at once our time devour__  
Than languish in his slow-chapped power_."

Lips followed the phantom hands, soft and warm they burnt an invisible pattern onto this skin. He needed to push her away, needed to get her curvaceous and comforting body off his lap.

Morally horrified.

"_Let us roll our strength, and all  
__Our__ sweetness, up into one ball:_"

His shirt was tugged up out of his trousers, and her hands dipped down once again and began to unbuckle his belt.

Physically molested.

"_And tear our pleasures with rough strife__  
Through the iron grates of life._"

Those were the only reasons she was touching him.

"_Thus, though we cannot make our sun  
Stand still, yet we will make him run_."

The only reasons.

"Angel-"

Angelina's lips immobilized Montague, cutting off what he was about to say. He was still beneath her, and Angelina repressed a sigh and pulled her lips off of Montague. Grinding her body lazily against his, she felt a rush of satisfaction as he gave a small thrust rising up to meet her. His hands gripped at her hips to stop her intent on holding her still, but his own body still pushed up to meet hers.

The action was at odds with the way his head was thrown back; his were eyes closed and a grim look came over his face.

Was she doing something wrong? She didn't think Montague would have been this hard to seduce, whenever he'd had her before it was if he couldn't get enough of her, he was relentless in bed. But maybe Montague had changed now that he'd seen Warrington lying on top of her. Maybe he was bored now that he'd had her a few times.

Leaning forward once again she pressed a kiss to his shoulder and another to his collarbone, her hands slid over his stomach and she felt the muscle beneath her hand jump as she traced the firm ridges.

"Alexander," she breathed into his ear and his body gave a violent start. A sudden hand in her hair pulled her face away from his body so that he could look into her eyes, surprising her as he demanded to know what she had called him. It was as if he couldn't comprehend the use of his first name by herself.

"Alexander," Angelina whispered answering him. "I called you by your first name." She let herself look into his eyes, tried to understand his shock, but couldn't make anything out from his undecipherable dark orbs.

Frantically she kissed him again, afraid that she had done something wrong.

"Angel," Montague told her through insistent kisses his own body was responding too, "You don't want to do this."

A jaded laugh escaped her. "Since when did you care about what I wanted, Montague? I didn't want to sleep with you the first time."

"Don't do this, Angelina," Montague warned her.

But Angelina didn't stop. Nor did she pay the comment any particular attention. "I can still feel his hands on me." She confessed. Freeing a hand from her hip she lifted it to her lips, "Here." She told him. "And here," the hand was moved lower to her throat, "and here." Tugging the hand down to her breasts, she cupped one of them using his hand, letting the soft weight settle in his palm. Dragging his unresisting hand lower she slid it down her abdomen, "and here."

Her gaze was still locked with Montague's as his hand slid lower again, although she wasn't guiding it this time. "Here?" He asked. His hands carried on exploring her body, each time he asked the same question and each time she gave the same answer.

"There," Angelina agreed. "Everywhere; I can feel his hands everywhere. Make them go away, Alex," She pleaded. "Replace them with your own; give me something else to think about tonight, something else to haunt my dreams. Please, Alex. Please."

"I'll kill him." Montague swore to her. "I'll kill the fucking bastard." His voice was thick with rage, his body shaking and his usually tanned face white with the force of it.

"Alex." Angelina pleaded turning her face in the crook of his neck, her lips nuzzling at the exposed skin there.

"Do you know what you ask of me?" Her lips covered his, and it was clear to him that the only answer she wanted was a physical one. His own lips became alive under hers and Montague pulled her closer so that she was pressed against his chest.

Standing, Montage took her with him, long legs wrapping around his waist. The soft leather of Montague's belt rubbed against Angelina's thighs creating a delicious friction.

One hand supported her and kept her up against him, while the other was wrapped around her waist pulling her as close as possible. Her own were hooked around his neck where they played with his hair and ran soothingly across his shoulders and upper back.

"What are you doing?" Angelina murmured taking her lips off his long enough to ask the question.

"Replacing…every memory of Warrington is going…to be a…painstakingly…long…and pleasurable…task…," He told her between kisses. "And before this night is through I want to be absolutely certain that the only man you'll be dreaming about is me."

Making the way into the master bedroom, Montague didn't pause in his explorations of Angelina's body to push the door shut with the heel of his shoe.

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"_There is double pleasure to deceive the deceiver_."

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A/N: Have I shocked any of you? The poem is written by Andrew Marvel, and is titled 'To His Coy Mistress' I thought it was kinda of ironic because it's Angelina who's trying to convince Montague! Hope you all enjoyed it!


	19. Chapter 18

A/N: Hey! The next chapter is finally here! I think that you might be in for a few suprises and I can already see the questions running through you're heads! Let me know, and I'll do my best to answer them as long as they don't give away to much of the plot!

Thankyou to Aravis'sSilverQuill, Cupiditatis, LongingforLlangarlia, Evilevergreen, Midnitestar171, vegiegurl, gitsrus, FatedtoFall, TeahWeah, angelface04, w1cked angel, CK4, angelina-fan, Nikki,Danielle, SoDeeply, jexebel, Rupert's honey, Lyndila03, AureliaMalfoy, DaOnleeSam, Polaris,Danielle andCarmel7! You guys have all been great and I'd love to hear you feedback on this lastest chapter!

An additional thankyou to Evilevergreen as well, thankyou so much for getting on my case!

This chapter is not beta'd, although I think I forgot to mention that the previous chapter was, and that was done by WriterLady1031! So thankyou very much!

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Sighing, a sneer on his face, Nott shook his head in disgust at the scene before him. He was panting lightly, his face slightly flushed with exertion that had been caused by the power needed for the numerous spellshe had been casting for most of the night.

The lump that lay before him groaned as he prodded at it with the tip of his foot. Rolling over the afore mentioned lump with his foot, Nott bit back the second sigh that wanted to burst forward.

Pathetic. It truly was pathetic.

At one time the world had trembled in fear of Voldemort and his Death Eaters. Legendry had been the names of Rodulphus and Bellatrix Lestrange, Evan Rosier, Antonin Dolohov, Julius Wilkes. Those and many others had been feared. Relief had been felt by many as death eaters fell in battle and then a wave apprehension followed washing away the tide of joy that such news had brought because surely worse would follow. Retaliation by Voldemort and his followers, brothers in arms to those that had fallen fighting for a cause that they believed in.

Too few believed in that cause today. Perhaps that was why standards were so low. The younger more active death eaters fought only for prestige, for acknowledgement, for what other way was there of gaining recognition and money in today's world where only war was thought of?

There were times when Nott felt ashamed of being labeled as a death eater, of being placed in the same category of wizards that were no more proficient with a wand than a muggle. It really was disheartening.

Take Warrington for example. Here he was, nothing more than a sniveling yellow-bellied fool. A disgrace to the wizarding world, a wizard that did not deserve the title Death Eater.

Twas not that Nott had a great ambition to be a death eater, the power, the prestige, were of course alluring, but like many young heirs to their family he was bored. Tired of bowing to his father, of his duty to honor a family that meant little to him. He was weary of the innocent debutantes he was expected to court and eventually marry, or the more experienced woman at court who saw little but the size of one's purse and the power he held.

Boredom had sent him to Voldemort, and rebellion had delivered him unto Dumbledore. For while Voldemort at first had captured his attention, it was not long before he realized that life as a death eater was rather monotonous. To kill and torture was unfulfilling when it was not personal. And so a hunger that he knew not how to feed raged within him, never satisfied for long no matter the pains he took to dissipate it.

Snape spied to make amends for past deeds.

Montague spied because ultimately he did not wish to land on the wrong side of the fence.

And he, himself spied because it took time, and in no small part amused him.

When one had fortune, looks and unlimited females available to seduce, (not that there was much seduction on his part) what else was there to do? Quidditch was one of the few hobbies that still intrigued him, but that was due to the fast brutal pace of the game where youonly had time to feel not think.

"James." Summoned Nott.

"Sir?"

"Sort this out. At once."

"Yes sir."

With brisk economical movements, and no display of sympathy the healer levitated Warrington on to the bed, and set about tending to his patient. Cooling spells were cast to lower his body temperature immediately, though there was no doubt that damage had already been caused to Warrington's mind. It was inevitable with the curses that had been cast upon him.

It was deplorable. Warrington had had time, surprise and knowledge of her situation available to him, and yet still he managed to botch things up. Although he was paying for it now, Nott thought with dark appreciation.

Further potions and salves were applied and Nott watched on impatiently. This was not how he had planned his evening.

Really how hard could it be to kidnap a witch with no wand to defend herself? Had Warrington done his research correctly he would have known that magic cast to harm would roll off her like water off a ducks back. It should have been a simple task. A quick clout to the head and they would have been able to disappear silently off into the dark night, Montague to late to save his lady love.

Lady love?

Ok...He really needed to cut back on his reading. It was never a good thing when he started using words and phrases from the book hehad immersed himself in. Evenif it was only in his head.

Thinking of his head, he could very well lose it now if he didn't pay attention to the matter at hand.

Things would be far more difficult now, Johnson would be well guarded, Montague would be alert and warned by the attack.

Yes things would be far more difficult now.

A groan from the bed brought Nott from his musings, and signaled that Warrington was coming to.

"Going to kill her," he mumbled, "going to kill Montague…going to kill them all…"

"Yes, yes." Nott agreed with the tone of voice that resembled that of a long suffering parent. "Give him something to make him sleep James."

"Yes sir." Answered James, a sleeping potion present in his hand as he spoke.

"Kill them all." Warrington mumbled again as he succumbed to the sleeping potion.

"Kill them all." Nott murmured to himself . "Perhaps all is not lost. James! What time is it?"

"3:40am sir."

"3:40...good. Make sure you keep an eye on Warrington." With a jaunt in his step Nott wandered off into the night, a whimsical smile hovering around his mouth. He still had time to be seduced.

Kill them all. The words ran through his head as he sauntered along. Yeah…he could work with that. Smirking to himself, he started to whistle as he disappeared into the night.

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Angelina lay unmoving in the bed Montague had taken her to late last night, lost in her reflections. Not that she could move if she wanted too anyway. Montague's grip reminded her of Devils Snare that she'd studied in Hogwarts. The slightest movement on her behalf, and his arms twisted all the more firmly around her body, drawing her against him squeezing her so tight that at times it felt difficult to breathe.

Montague was spooned in behind her, his solid body warm against her own. One arm slung around her waist ensuring that she would be unable to leave without alerting him, while the other snaked up to cup the side of her breast possessively, his thumb occasionally stroking the soft flesh while one of his legs held the lower half of her body immobile.

The black silk sheets were draped over them, pushed down to her waist and bunched elsewhere around their bodies.

It would have been so bloody perfect had she been laying there with almost anyone other than Montague.

Hell, it would have been perfect if she was laying there with anyone that loved her. Saw her as more than a possession, as a means to climb higher in their world.

After all, politically it was mostly a good move on Montague's behalf. He had been the one to point that out to her. That as a pureblood witch she was valuable, and indeed she was despite her muggle relations. Because even Narcissa and Bellatrix Black had made credible marriages bearing in mind the fact that their sister had run off with Ted Tonks.

The general public would regard him with less suspicion because of his alliance with her. The other death eaters might not, but for the most part he had something that they didn't; a pureblood witch of breeding age.

But the wise woman's words still troubled her. She had called Montague a deceiver, had in fact told her, Angelina to deceive him. But this advice brought so many questions to mind.

Who was Montague deceiving?

Why was he deceiving them?

What could he possibly need to cover up?

A past romantic entanglement?

A petty rivalry?

Would he need her to help cover his tracks?

How was she involved in this?

Why was she involved with this?

What could he possibly want from her except her political aspect?

Hadn't she asked herself these questions a million times before?

But if her use was strictly political, it still did not explain why she was in his bed, or why he seemed so adamant about keeping her there. If it was political then surely it would have been public places, dinner and dates, meetings at high profile events. There would have been very little need for them to be alone so much.

And then, if she was to deceive Montague, what did she gain from it? Because surely if he was double crossing something or someone, then she was put in even more danger because of her association with him.

The questions spun around inside her head, all demanding her attention, an answer. Part of her burned to know the answers, while yet another part of her mind told her to stay away that she wouldn't like the answers she'd be given. But then, would the be the true answers she was after? Or merely lies designed to keep her away from the truth and to stop future questions?

How many times had these questions swirled in her mind? How many times had she already tormented herself trying to understand the man lying next to her?

What was that line?

Ask me no questions and I shall tell you no lies.

Yes that was quite adept. Surely that was all Monatgue would ever give her; lies. Their entire relationship was based on lies. Angelina snorted mentally. Relationship? They didn't have a relationship. There was nothing between them. Montague was nothing more than lies, deceit, cunning and manipulation. He was a slytherin through and through. Nothing more. He would never be anything more.

But for all that she felt safe in his arms. And perhaps that feeling was more disturbing than any other Montague could inspire in her. Because to her mind, being safe meant being protected, and being protected meant being loved, or perhaps in Montague's world wanted. But to be wanted you had to be desired, at least some level.

And while Montague wanted her, it wasn't for the reasons that she needed.

His want was possession. Like a spoilt child who didn't want to share a toy regardless of if they really wanted it.

There had to be in some small part revenge on Fred for the incident in the vanishing cupboard by forcing her to sleep with him, for rubbing it in Fred's face. But there was no secret about that, not even a blind man could miss the way he'd or rather they'd paraded their relationship in front of the former gryffindor.

So who was Montague deceiving? And how did she come into the equation? She would not still be in his bed now if he didn't have a use for her.

Despair tainted the thoughts that passed through her mind, so strong that she fancied she could almost taste it. Dark and musty, heavy in her heart and soul, mind and body, an underlying bitter tang followed by the salty taste of tears.

Biting her lower lips between her teeth, the flimsy shields that she had been using began she slip. Taking a deep breath she tried to calm herself down and then focused on protecting herself as best she could. The shields that she imagined in her mind began to solidify. Growing vast and thick encompassing her mind, keeping her thoughts and feelings away from wizard that lay peacefully in the bed opposite her. Keeping him out should he decide to look for himself.

Shifting in his grip, Angelina tried to loosen his arms to that she could slide out of his grasp.

She only succeeded in having Montague hold on to her even more tightly, his arms pulling her against his chest firmly, a low warning growl escaping as he moved his head closer to her own, the weight pulling on a few strands of her hair.

Trying once again, her attempt was futile.

It would have been so bloody perfect.

It would have been nice to wake up like this if the person holding onto her like she might disappear at any given moment actually cared about her. In fairness though, Montague probably was worried that she would slip away if his back was turned.

It would have been so bloody perfect. So bloody perfect.

His body was warm against her back, the scent of his cologne and sex covering her skin and the bed covers they lay in.

It could have been so bloody perfect! It would have been if it were anyone but him. Why? Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it have been a good man? An honest man? A just man? Why did it have to be Montague? A Murderer? A Death Eater?

Why couldn't she have had this with anyone else?

The situation made her want to rant and rail, scream, kick, bite, curse as she'd never done before. Not when her mother died. Not when her friends betrayed her. Not when Fred had cheated on her.

She had to get out. She had to get out of his room. Out of his bed. Out of his embrace. She had to get out. Her chest felt tight, the natural ability to breathe in and out air leaving her, pressing a fist to her mouth she bit down on it fighting down a choked sob.

She couldn't break down. She couldn't, not in front of him. She couldn't. She just couldn't.

She had to get out.

A burst of strength mingled with desperation gave Angelina the courage needed to tear her body out of his grasp and Angelina sprang from the bed, not even pausing as she picked a discarded shirt off the floor and disappeared out of the room, the door banging loudly behind her.

If only she could remove her soul from his hold as easily.

Distressed eyes survey the room, but too much had happened there. The book lying bent of the floor, the tumbler halfempty set on its coaster. It was too personal. Passing through the room she entered the hallway, heading for the door opposite Angelina's hand reached out, fingers brushing against the cold metal of the door handle, but…no. She couldn't go out there.

She couldn't face those monsters that killed and tortured innocent people. Not dressed in Montague's shirt. Not without her wand, not without her common sense, because she clearly couldn't have been thinking when she had seduced Montague last night.

Things were no longer the same now, because she had gone to him, whether it was to deceive him or not, she had gone to him. It could no longer be said that whatever she did he made her do. And Montague….Montague would view his victory with all the more satisfaction, because this time he had to do nothing for her to come crawling to him. If there had ever been a small chance that he would have let her go before last night, there was none now.

Crossing through a door to her right it led her up a flight of granite steps and out onto a balcony of sorts. Not bigger than five meters long it was empty of any adornments, the cold gray of the stone the same color of the sky.

Leaning against the stone wall she peered over the edge, the chill biting through the thin silk and sinking into her skin. Funny…she didn't remember passing any stairs except for the set she had traveled to reach this point.

Really, if she was thinking clearly, Angelina supposed, she should toss herself off the wall and plummet down the meet the ground, where upon impact she should die instantly her neck broken and her body damaged beyond healing. By the time Montague would be able to reach her she'd have been dead for a few minutes and nothing he could do would bring her back into this world.

She should do it. Her family would be safe, wouldn't they? Would Montague bother to kill them if she wasn't there to see it? He'd forget them, after all, they were just another family, weren't they?

She'd do it if she wasn't so selfish. But was it selfish to want to live? To love? To grow old? To be happy? No perhaps not. But was it selfish to sacrifice other people's happiness to secure your own? To sacrifice her own family because she wanted to live?

She leant further forward, the sun was beginning to rise over the horizon, but night still lingered, and she was still unable to see all the way down to the ground.

Why couldn't she be strong enough to go through with it? This was not the first time such thoughts had run free in her mind, hadn't they consumed her mind as she lay sobbing on the bathroom floor only months ago?

And now the trouble with Warrington…

"What are you doing up here?" The sharp question from Montague broke Angelina away from her thoughts, and she jumped back from the wall, her feet hitting the stone floor with a soft slap. Startled, she spun around to face him, surprised at how close he had gotten to her without her realizing it.

His eyes gleamed, while the skin around his mouth was pulled tight. There was nothing of the man that she had slept with last night.

"How long have you been watching me?"

Montague ignored her question, asking his own once again. "Don't make me ask for a third time Angelina."

Her eyes darted unbidden over the wall, and then back to him. "Nothing. I was doing nothing."

"Liar." With a single word, a single proclamation Angelina was aware that Montague knew exactly what she had been thinking of only minutes ago.

He stalked towards her, and it was only strong self control that held Angelina in place and stopped her from backing away. To do so would be to give herself away, and even if he knew, even if he was right, she still had to admit it.

Montague hands came up to frame her face as he tilted it up towards him, not allowing her to look away as he crowded into her personal space. "If you think death would take you from me you are highly mistaken. I would not release you so easily. If I had to break every law of nature I would do it. If I had to cross every line I would do it. If I had to fight even the gods themselves I would do it. If only to kill you myself once I had you back beside me. Not even in death will you escape me. I have told you this before and I will tell you this again. Not even in death will you escape me."

"It was not my death I was thinking of." Angelina hissed at him, wrenching herself away and out of reach. "It was not my death I was thinking of." The words were repeated quietly as she hugged her stomach, telling herself that it was cold wind, and not the truth of her words that made her feel so numb, that made goose bumps rise over her skin.

It wasn't a complete lie, Warrington had come to mind hadn't he? However briefly? And Montague had sworn last night as he made love to her that he was going to kill him. That would make anyone feel cold inside wouldn't it? Or was it the fact that his declaration hadn't turned her away, hadn't disgusted her that was the problem? And - shit! When the hell had she started putting Montague, love and her in the same sentence?

Turning away from him, she tried to focus on something, anything really, anything that would take her mind off the words she spoke. "You're going to kill him aren't you." It wasn't a question, more a statement really. She already knew what he was going to do, he'd told her hadn't he? But she needed to say it for some reason. Had to say the words out loud, had to make this situation a reality.

Montague bite back a sigh, cursing mentally. How could she not want him dead. The bastard had tried to rape her, didn't she want revenge, his death? How could she not? How could she expect him to allow Warrington to live after what he had done to her, after what he had tried to do? He was supposed to protect her damn it! If not from himself then most certainly from others!

"Yes." Montague answered. "Angelina…I don't understand why you don't want his death-"

"I do!" She screamed. With a sob she bit down on her fist, her body shaking from something other than the cold. "Go help me for I want him dead! I want him dead." Her body slid to the floor, but she was unaware of the chilled flagstone beneath her.

The words that she'd wailed with tears running down her face made little sense to Montague.

Her face was hidden in her hands as she confessed, trying to hide her shame but needing to confess it all the same. "I shouldn't want someone's death. I shouldn't feel happy about the fact that you're going to kill him. I shouldn't want to kill someone! What kind of person would wish another dead?" She screamed at him. "What kind of person am I? It's disgusting and despicable, and makes me even worse than you because I know that I don't have the guts to kill him myself and I want to!"

Montague knelt before her on his knees and took her hands in his, pressing a kiss to each palm and then cupping her face. "I would not have it so." He told her softly, his voice quiet and persuasive. "I would not have his blood spoil your hands. I would not have his death stain your soul."

Such a poetic tongue.

Such a romantic way to talk of death and murder.

Such a reassuring way to say she wouldn't kill Warrington, but he would do it for her.

Silence reigned between them. There was a large rumble of thunder, and a crack of lighting before the dark storm clouds threw them back into darkness. The heavens opened, fat rain drops pounding off the stonework, pelting Angelina's shirt and her hair, and soaking into the fabric of Montague's boxers.

She didn't resist as he pulled her towards him, letting Montague wrap his arms about her waist and cradle her body against his, her mind blissfully blank. When she realized what he was doing, trying to comfort her she stiffened and bunched her muscles in preparation to throw him off.

"I don't need your comfort." She protested, trying to pull away, but as always Montague never let her go unless he wanted to.

Liar, the word echoed in her mind, aware of the compulsion to hold him, to take comfort in his strength, in his protection. She shouldn't feel like this, it wasn't natural, not even with Fred had she felt this emotion.

Before it had been a momentary weakness, she'd been in shock after the attack Warrington had made on her and she'd not been thinking properly. If she'd been in the correct state of mind she'd have never gone to him like that, begging, pleading for attention and comfort. What had she been thinking? The only comfort Montague knew was physical, he would not hold her close, his heartbeat steady and calming under her ear.

"Maybe it is I who need comfort."

She didn't answer, her thoughts were employed in trying to suppress the snort and wild burst of laughter that threatened to break free.

Montague and comfort? The words did not belong together anymore than Montague and love. Montague and pity. Montague and kindness. Montague and sensitivity. Montague and mercy.

Besides what would he need comfort for? He had made his own decisions, chosen his own path and sculpted his own life into what it was today, he had nothing to blame anyone for. He had decided his own fate and now he must bear the consequences alone. Death eaters did not have families, they did not have pure love, they did not have true happiness. Their lives were ones of death and mayhem, of trophy wives and public playacting. They did not truly live. They just were.

He had chosen his own doom, and deserved no comfort or pity from her.

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So...what did you think? Hit the review button and let me know!

And a treat because you've waited to long for this chapter I'll give you a few hints for the next chapter! Angelina meets a member of Montague's family...What the necklace and tattoo mean for Angelina...Revelations about Kat...

Sound good?


	20. Chapter 19 Part 1

A/N: I've got my Beta back! Yay!

Ok, a big thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I'm sorry it's taken so long for this chapter, ( why am I always saying that? ) anyway I hope you enjoy it, I will be posting it in part 1, part 2 etc as the chapter is so long, there's a lot of information included in each part of it as well, so any questions let me know!

Chapter 19 Part 1

Kat frowned as she thought of her sister. Angelina has been far too quiet the last few days, and had thrown herself into her work with such aggression that was seldom seen anyplace other than the quidditch pitch. Gods, her sister had been a demon on the pitch, fast, agile, quick thinking, strong and proud. But it was not a pretentious pride, it was a true steady pride of self confidence, knowing who she was and what she stood for, knowing that she had people who loved her, would never betray her, friends, family…Fred.

She wanted to make Angelina talk to her, to confide in her as they used to, but it was no good. Her sister would come and speak when she was ready, but not before….but eventually. To try and speak to her now would simply push her away, but it had something to do with Montague, that much she knew, Montague and the death eaters whose company she had been spotted in recently.

But what was Montague playing at? Photos! Kat snickered to herself. Angelina was a kind witch, but really did she think that her sister would believe such a lie?

Not that they were really sisters, through blood or marriage. But when you base your entire life on a lie, and you live it for so long it was easy to forget. Far too easy to let the truth slip away and become submerged in the fantasy that had been created. Far too easy and she had been reminded of that when she had spotted Montague in that club, watching her sister with those burning black eyes.

And her sister hadn't even known!

If he'd had any idea who she was…

But it had been Angelina he'd wanted that evening, and he'd gotten her. Once he'd forgotten about Bell, of course it had helped he hadn't seen her, a quick _imperia_, a milder form of the Imperius, no more than a suggestion and off went Bell with the guy she had been dancing with while she'd been busy attracting Montague's attention and trying to hold it up to the point when Angelina had arrived. Even if she had acted like an easy lay. But she had to admit that if it wasn't for the fact he'd known her as Angelina's sister he'd have paid her no attention.

She'd learnt that a long time ago, Montague always got what he wanted in the end. Blackmail. Extortion. Murder. One way or another he got what he wanted, whether he spent 10 minutes waiting or 10 years. He was a patient man when need be.

A long time she had been watching him. Waiting. There had been times she'd been half the world away, and at others she'd been so close they'd brushed against one another in the street as they moved in opposite directions.

She'd been there, concealed in the shadows as she waited for Angelina to leave the club, and then cursing herself as she her senses picked up on the magic that was being used within, magic she should have shielded and then the dark mark had shot into the night like a shooting star, it's beauty dark and monstrous.

She'd been there when the Aurors had arrived, she'd watched them cast their pre-school spells trying to hide the evidence of a death eater attack instead of destroying it like they should have. She'd laughed in disgust at the pathetic bumbling fools as they remained puzzled over what had happened to the club's patrons and their speculations over why it wasn't a virtual blood bath.

Could they not see that it was a warning? That no-one had been injured or made an example of simply because the death eater had taken all that he wanted.

Did they not stop to think what it was the death eater was after? Why the death eater would go to a muggle night club to retrieve it? What was so valuable that a death eater would enter into what they considered the veritable depths of hell to retrieve it?

But then, why had she expected anything different, not only were they incompetent, but terrified. And terror numbed the mind, froze it with icy claws that wouldn't release it's grip. Pulling you under, drowning you until your lungs fought to breathe, making heart skip that all important first beat upon realization then pounding and hammering away inside your ribcage, shaking your body with the force of its palpitations.

She'd been trapped by terror once. The blackness surrounding her as she'd struggled to keep her eyes open and reach her mother's side.

They'd run. What else was there to do when you couldn't fight back? They'd been discovered and she'd been too young to be of any use, her mother's only concern was that they lived long enough to plead for sanctuary.

Sanctuary they had been granted, but it hadn't saved her mother in the end. Eventually his people had come, when she had been only eight and they'd taken her mother. Destroyed all that was dear to her in one foul swoop.

Her mother had been his woman. His mistress. His lover. His confident. His partner. The mother of his child.

And for that she had been killed. Because of the gift she'd been granted by her gods, a bastard child that he didn't want because it wasn't proper. A child not wanted because he had another born in wedlock. A child not wanted because she had been born female.

For years she'd remained with the people that had sheltered her mother, watching, waiting, learning. She'd grown up as any other child there had, learning the different varieties of magic.

But she'd been entrusted with the secret of a boy. A boy older than herself that wore green and silver robes. A boy that soared in the sky on a piece of wood. That made fun of the girl with skin darker than hers' and who wore her hair in long braids that dripped down her back.

That boy had grown into the man that would provide her revenge, her freedom.

But now she couldn't monitor his actions, couldn't spy on him as she had spent so many years doing. She'd known the minute she was unable to track him that he had cast the rituals on Angelina trapping her by his side until something occurred that might happen to part them.

If he let go of her even then.

But she was getting ahead of herself, Montague would provide her in. He would get her close enough to the man that had destroyed her life, to ensure that she could return the favor.

How or when she did not know.

But it didn't matter how or when. The only thing that mattered was that it would inevitably take place, and that somehow he would lead them to her. That much she had learnt long ago.

And when the man that sired her stood before her she would break him as he had broken her mother and the life she might have had.

Voldemort would lose a faithful follower. Her half brother would lose an ambitious father. His wife would lose an errant husband.

Lucius Malfoy would lose not only his life, but his very soul.

--------------------------

"You will wait here." It was a clear order, the tone hard and unyielding despite the casual way it was spoken.

"Excuse me?" Eyebrows raised, with a hand on her hip Angelina looked at Montague. He did not just say that to her.

A small smirk lingered on his face as his eyes glanced across at her, before they flickered back to numerous pieces of parchment in his hand. "You will wait here." An obvious dismissal of the conversation, one that Angelina didn't intend to heed.

"No, I will not. I am going home." There was no way that she was staying here. He'd mentioned going home and relaxing, getting away from the life at court and she'd agreed. Hadn't wanted to remain among the death eaters any more than was necessary, didn't want to remain so that memories of that night could haunt her more than she already knew they would.

Home. He'd spoken that one word and she'd latched on to it. Hadn't given a moments thought to whose home she'd be returning to, automatically she'd though of her flat, cozy and familiar, comforting memories that would help soothe her mind. Home. He'd spoken that one word and she hadn't heard, hadn't paid any attention to anything else he'd told her.

Raising her wand she focused on her apperation point ready to disappear with a crack.

Nothing happened. Frowning, she tried again. Still nothing. Examining her wand, she studied it for any damage looking for anything to signify that it had been tampered with while it had been in Montague's possession.

"Do you really think that I would put you in danger by not giving you a fully functional wand?"

Yes she did think that. He was Death Eater. A murderer. A Slytherin. If he had no compunction about blackmailing a woman into sleeping with him, why would he care whether or not her wand had been tampered with? Had he not left her defenseless the previous night?

There was nothing there…unless…

"Anti-apparation wards." Montague spoke, his eyes still focused on the parchment in his hand before he looked to his watch. "I have to leave, you will wait here. I'll be back soon. Don't bother trying the floo system because it won't work for you." There was no reason to tell her it was voice activated unless he set it differently. "And there's no point trying to leave the grounds to apparate away either, you won't be let through the wards and barriers surrounding the estate."

"Montague, I am not staying here."

"You're not well enough to go home yet and I don't know of Warrington's location, which means your apartment isn't safe. I'll be home in an hour or two, Minky will show you to your rooms, inform her if you need anything, a bath, something to eat perhaps-"

"Montague, I am not, and I repeat, I am not staying here. The last time you left me on my own I was sexually assaulted and nearly raped. I am not staying here. I want to go home! No strike that! I am going home!" Fire was dancing in her eyes as she spoke, her voice cracking slightly as she mentioned Warrington before gaining control of herself and continuing on in her usual headstrong way.

Dark eyes roved over her face taking in every detail. Montague moved closer, crowding into her personal space as he caught her chin. The pad of his thumb reaching up and pressed down on Angelina's bottom lip, pulling at it gently as it moved down over her chin and followed the path of the smooth links of the chain which held the emerald she was unable to take off.

His fingers closed over the precious stone, the chain shortening as he pulled her ever closer. His other arm snaked around her waist, pushing past the waistband of her trousers to reach bare skin and the mark of his house which had been imprinted there. Automatically he began to trace the tattoo, satisfaction curling the corners of his mouth and filling his eyes as Angelina gasped and arched into his body.

Rebellion bubbled in her veins as Angelina pressed against his body seeking further contact. This wasn't right. He was invoking these feelings, he was manipulating her body she hadn't felt the smallest hint of desire until his hand grazed the brand across her back.

Sensing her resistance Montague increased the emotions he was pushing into her body, the heat radiating from the tattoo against her skin increasing , the paths of fire that raced across her body increasing, licking at her stomach and reaching up to torment her breasts until they ached, heavy within the confines of her bra. The compulsion to respond was becoming harder and harder to ignore as it battered away at the little self control she had left. Then suddenly it was shattered in the tide of hunger that passed through her body as her tattoo burnt hot and the flames pooled downwards between her legs, skittering along her inner thighs. Angelina's body pressed into Montague's more insistently as she stood on tip-toes leaning against him, her arms wrapping around his neck pulling him closer so that she could reach his mouth. His hips were thrust into the cradle her body provided, letting her know exactly what he was after.

His mouth was only inches away, but each time she turned to catch it with her own Montague moved away, only to return moments later, taunting her. Always taunting her.

Angelina's arms around his neck slackened their grip and she leant away from his face to stare at him, confusion evident in her eyes. She moved to pull back further from him, and this time it was Montague who was searching her mouth out, the hand that had been holding the stone was now wrapped around the nape of her neck ensuring that there was no way to escape his as he took control. Made her meet his terms, proving he was the one that would set the conditions of what she was permitted.

The hand that had been tracing her tattoo dropped down over the curve of her buttocks, stroking and kneading and then sliding down between her legs.

There was a gasp and she murmured something against his lips but he didn't quite catch it as he trailed a lone finger along the sensitive flesh he found there, and then his wrist was pushed all the more firmly against the cheeks of her buttocks as his finger pushed into her, slowly pumping in and out until she started to rock against his hand, and then he added another digit stretching the walls of inner muscle that was clamped around him, pushing further into her body. He rocked his hips against her, kept the rhythm in time with his fingers.

Gods! This was supposed to be a lesson for her! It was turning into torture for him, how was he supposed to go to a meeting with The Order, knowing that she was waiting for him, in his home, deliciously warm, wet and welcoming?

Pulling his fingers from her body, he brought them up to his mouth, locking his eyes with hers, he licked the glistening liquid from his fingers in long teasing strokes. Reveling in the musky tang of her aroma against his tongue, a symbol of the power he held over her body if not yet her heart. Heated open mouth kisses were pressed against Angelian's mouth, and Montague's tongue swept into the moist cavern, his tongue dancing with her own, presenting the taste of her own body to her.

Montague lifted his head reluctantly, releasing control of the kiss, of Angelina herself as he panted softly, taking in much needed air that he was going to need if he was going to continue with what he had in mind. He was going to need all his willpower, ever slither of self control.

"Wait here. I'll finish what I started when I get back."

With those words spoken, he stepped away from her, quickly making his way to the fireplace and grabbing a hand full of floo powder as he went. For if he didn't leave at that precise moment, before she was too stunned to react, he wouldn't leave at all once she protested.

Stunned, Angelina watched in astonishment as Montague disappeared in the flames of the fireplace just seconds after he'd pulled away from their heated exchange.

A fool.

She was a god damned fool and deserved everything she got.

The fire in her blood was beginning to cool now, the throb that had at one point been so insistent between her legs beginning to melt away. The tattoo, while still warm against her skin was no longer burning something that had happened as soon as Montague had removed his hands from her skin.

He had to have done something to her.

She was never this responsive to a man. At least not so quickly - no, she was kidding herself with that. She was never that responsive to men. Ever. Wasn't that one of the reasons Fred had left her?

An uneasy tingle skittered down her spine. Fred's angry words replaying in her mind.

_"Angelina, how could you be so stupid? What in the world induced you to—" Fred's words came to a spluttering halt as he tried to express his feelings in words. It reminded Angelina eerily of how her father's car sounded in the winter. _

_"How could I what, Fred?"_

_"Montague!" He howled._

_"How could I what Montague? Date him? Fuck him? You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Fred."_

_"Let him mark you in the old way!"_

_Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat before starting to thud furiously in her chest. Let him ? She hadn't let him? How did she let him? He'd done it without her permission, she hadn't let him…_

Pushing the unpleasant thoughts from her head, Angelina took a deep breathe, pleased and confused by the way her body had calmed once out of Montague's presence.

A small popping sound behind her made her swing around ready to face the intruder.

The exclamation that was halfway up her throat stopped as she regarded the house elf before.

It's large green nose nearly scraped along the floor in its haste to bow, floppy ears obscuring its face from view.

"Minky?" Checked Angelina tentatively.

"Yes Mistress, I am Minky. Master has left instructions for you. This way, this way please." The house elf motioned that Angelina should step out of the room and into the hallway beyond the door. "Come, come. No time to lose. Come, come. Master will be home soon and will be desirous that all chores left to be done have been completed in his absence. Come, come. This way Mistress. This way. Come, come. Much to be done, much to be completed as Master instructed."

The house elf before her was unlike any of the creatures that Angelina had ever encountered before. Minky held none of the infectious enthusiasm like Dobby, or the cheery smiles of the houselves that worked in the kitchens of Hogwarts only to happy to supply its students with food and drink.

This creature was a droll little thing, although oddly fitting for this repressed house. It was a beautiful house, even Angelina had noticed that despite other preoccupations of her mind Angelina had not failed to notice. Maybe it was the stillness of the entire house, the silence.

Her own flat always had the radio or TV humming in the background while she cooked or cleaned or completed various projects for work. Cars frequently passed up and down the roads, so much a part of the background noise that she was far more conscious of the noise not being there than when it was. Shouts and screams and the happy laughter of children as they placed in the park on the opposite side of the road.

Cold winter sunlight flooded into the house through the large windows, framed by heavy drapes of dark colors that all but blended into the dark wood paneling of the walls. Everything was impersonal, no little pictures, or features to show that someone actually lived there and it wasn't merely a show home.

Even the house elf spoke as if she were a regal housekeeper. But then it was no surprise that Montague insisted his houselves spoke none of the confusing gibberish nonsense in the way many others did.

With some trepidation Angelina stepped out of the study and into the carpeted hallway, once again dressed in drab dark colors of brown and green. Even the light filtering in through the windows did little to fight away the dark shadows which had settled there.

They moved further onwards to the destination, Minky still motioning to Angelina and insisting that she should 'Come.'

The bathroom Minky had shown her to was far removed from her own. Her own was plain white, a few splashes of color, neat and tidy. Compact. The very opposite of this one.

A large tub had been sunk into the middle of the room, at the far end of it there were numerous taps each with a different label detailing their function and the bubble bath they would release. The room was done entirely in black marble, the dense color only broken by the flickering candles and white towels scattered about the room.

Above the sink was an enormous mirror, stretching the whole breadth of the counter. There were no bottles, no bits and pieces or knick knacks left by the sink on the counter. No hair or beauty products nothing to prove it was a fully functional bathroom and not a showroom. Exactly like the rest of the house.

There was an empty picture frame hanging on the wall, its inhabitant presumably having wondered off to socialize; or cause trouble as befitting a Montague.

Steam rose in wispy strands from the bath, bubbles coated the surface of the water, big fluffy ones that hardly seemed real. The soft scent of vanilla surrounded her soft and persistent in its demand that she relax.

No chance there! Not while she'd been confined in Montague's home with no way to escape.

A soft breeze ran through the picture on the wall, despite it still being without an occupant. The grass waved softly, flowers bobbing up and down.

She had better things to do than stand like an idiot in front of a picture with nothing in it. The bath was tempting, especially since she hadn't bathed since the night before and that had hardly been relaxing. Pulling her shirt over her head, Angelina's bra soon followed suit. Tugging at the buttons of the jeans she was wearing they were soon shucked down off her body. The knickers she also wore were quickly disposed of and Angelina made her way to the bath. Carefully she made her way down the slippery steps. Black marble looked all well and good but it was hardly the most practical when wet. She had no desire to slip over and crack her head open; at least not just yet.

After all hadn't she contemplated throwing herself from a tower or balcony, or whatever it was this morning?

A gasp caught her attention, and Angelina whirled around to face the intruder, water sloshing over her and the edges of the bath.

The picture frame was no longer empty.

Instead there sat a young women surrounded by the soft grasses and wild flowers. Her eyes were wide with curiosity, innocence as well Angelina would have said if she'd not caught the calculating gleam present. A hint of surprise also glimmered in her blue eyes.

Montague's eyes.

Neither one of the two women spoke as they both took stock of the other, each shocked by the appearance of the other.

It was absurd that the woman in the portrait was related to Montague. Her hair was blonde, cascading over her shoulders in a mass of silky curls. An off-the-shoulder gown was draped across the woman, obviously influenced by a medieval fashion with the gold belt draped about her hips, the ends of it arranged to drop down between her legs and wide sleeves falling down and covering her hands. The dress itself was white; decidely pure. It made the woman look young, almost childlike.

She was breathtakingly beautiful, the pert nose and pink lips well situated on her face.

"Who are you?" The blonde woman asked.

"Who are you?" Angelina immediately countered.

A delighted laugh escaped the woman as she regarded Angelina with amusement. "You are right, of course! Now that you are the current Mistress of the Manor you get your answers before me! I am Athalie Montague, wife to Tristan Montague."

"Angelina Johnson, current whore to Alexander Montague."

A gurgle of laughter echoed throughout the room. "You are quite mistaken." Athalie told Angelina when she had calmed sufficiently. "You are the current Mistress."

"Because I am the current whore?" Angelina asked doubtfully, apparently it was not only the house elf who was confused.

"Because you bear the mark of Mistress. The one upon your back." She elaborated realizing that Angelina still didn't believe her. "Surely you knew that when you allowed him to place it upon your skin, why would you allow such a thing otherwise? Not for the pleasure of being a Montague possession surely, that goes without saying."

_"Angelina, how could you be so stupid? What in the world induced you to—" Fred's words came to a spluttering halt as he tried to express his feelings in words. It reminded Angelina eerily of how her father's car sounded in the winter. _

_"How could I what, Fred?"_

_"Montague!" He howled._

_"How could I what Montague? Date him? Fuck him? You're going to have to be a bit more specific, Fred."_

_"Let him mark you in the old way!"_

_Her breath caught in her throat and her heart skipped a beat before starting to thud furiously in her chest. Let him ? She hadn't let him? How did she let him? He'd done it without her permission, she hadn't let him…_

The dreadful scene played itself out in front of her eyes once again. "I didn't allow him to do anything!" Angelina snapped. She hadn't! She wanted no part of Montague!

"You must have."

"I didn't!" Insisted Angelina. "It was bad enough letting that bastard touch me before I woke up with a collar around my throat and his brand stamped upon my back! There is no way I'd have agreed to this!"

Athalie merely 'hummed' to herself, watching Angelina contemplatively as she leant back on her hands, her head tilted to the side. "There must be one reason at least," she pointed out. "Otherwise you wouldn't have slept with him before."

A snarl escaped Angelina as she grit her teeth. "He's threatening to kill my family if I don't co-operate."

A shocked look appeared on Athalie's face, her eyes widening in astonishment and horror. Disappointment gleaming in their depths. "But that's so…"

"Disgusting! Vile! Horrible! Dastardly! Slimy! Sickening! Revolting! Nauseous! Foul! Shocking! Shameless! Distasteful! Odious! Appalling! Vulgar! Nasty! Loathsome! Obnoxious! Detestable! Offensive! Immoral! Wicked! Wrong! Evil! Sinful! Corrupt! Base! Depraved! Dishonest! Dishonorable! Crooked! Despicable!"

"…cliché."

Angelina's rant came to a sudden halt, disbelief wrapping itself around her throat and choking off the words spewing from her mouth. Had she really just said…"Excuse me?"

"Rather disappointing really," continued Athalie. "Would have thought Alexander would have come up with a better plan than that, but then…you are doing what he wants so I can't berate him too much. Not such a soft touch then after all! I was rather worried about him you know," she confided. "His mother; well! And as for his father! If I didn't know Montague blood ran through his veins I'd swear he was a Longbottom! Ended up with all the worst traits of a true Montague, jealousy, greed, ambition, lust! And no backbone to see any of it through. Alexander was conceived in a cloak room, Christopher not stopping to think of the consequences until far too late! And then he married the silly chit! Had he the sense to go to Tristan, his father, the girl could have been disposed of and the whole affair swept under the rug!" A heartfelt sigh sounded around the room. "But for all that he did his duty and produced an heir. And it seems Alexander didn't turn out too badly after all," Athalie reflected a smile in place. "Despite his parentage."

Montague didn't turn out too badly she said.

Didn't turn out too badly?

Didn't turn out too badly!

Was this woman crazy? She had to be. She had to be completely and utterly mad. She was speaking of Montague's action like a doting grandparent boasted of their grandchild's performance in the school play.

"How did Alexander put the tattoo upon you?" Athalie asked her. "I can still remember the day Tristan claimed me. It was never my families intention for me to marry him, in fact I'd only met him a few times. We were both in Slytherin back at Hogwarts, but he was older than me, when I returned for my second year he'd already finished and was busy with the family business. I knew who he was of course, as did everyone else.

The Montagues were a very powerful family then, however Christopher took over and the connections and power Tristan had worked for began to slip away. Meanwhile, the Malfoys were gaining what they could. I have no doubt that my husband was turning in his grave. But we're doing better now that Alexander has taken his father's place. He looks so much like Tristan, almost as if he were our son instead of Christopher." She ended with a wistful sigh. Angelina wasn't sure she'd be able to keep the incredulous shock from her face.

"Zachary Abbott had been paying court to me," Athalie serenely continued. "I held him in no particular regard, he was after all a Hufflepuff, but he was a pureblood, had good prospects and would be able to support me as I was accustomed. He was also without any close living relatives which was also an advantage, far less hassle from my point of view. And although he was weak minded, this was not particularly a disadvantage because it meant that I'd be able to keep a close eye on the running of the estate and business, investments, and if necessary step in.

He was…respectful. Rather than putting me at my ease, this only made me all the more uncomfortable. I'd grown up in a powerful family that moved in a powerful society. I was used to men being ruthless. Taking what they wanted with no regard for anyone or anything. I could never quite understand his motivations, and to be honest I don't think that I do now. It always put me on edge, I was always waiting for some ulterior motive, some plan.

Zachary never knew this of course, it was beyond his understanding. My family only favored the match because of his political power back then. He'd taken me for a picnic, in the rose gardens. And still to this very day I cannot stand the sight or smell of roses. Apparently he'd already spoken to my father, and we were to be married after a short betrothal. Fool. The events that followed…I cannot even begin to describe my feelings or the actions of those around me," Athalie paused, looking at Angelina with a slow perusal. She smiled like a young child who had a secret she couldn't wait to share. "Perhaps it is better that I show you."

And with those words the world shimmered and faded before Angelina's eyes…

-----------------------

A/N: Well, what do you say to that?


	21. Chapter 19 Part 2

_A/N: I know it's been a really long time since I last updated, but here is the next chapter! Thanks to Homeric for all her help as beta with this chapter._

_However if anyone is interest, or knows anyone that might be interested in acting as an permant beta please let me know!_

_Thanks to everyone for reviewing, and those of you who kept badgering me to update!_

_Enjoy._

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She'd always known that she'd be sold to the highest bidder, but was she worth so low a price no one else had shown an interest?

Her father had always stressed that marriage was a business arrangement, and because of his views she'd never sought a husband herself. Was she to be punished now for obeying him? For doing her duty to her family?

Would it have been better if she'd rebelled in her actions rather than merely in her mind? If she'd shown an interest in another wizard would her father have given his blessing and spared her the disgrace of Abbott?

No. Her father was a cruel man, thoroughly enjoying the tormenting of others. There were few that would stand up to him and succeed in their quest. Had she shown interest in another he would have separated them to remind her of her place and hurt her.

Her father had a perverse sense of humor. Yet she still owed him her allegiance, her loyalty, her trust all because his blood ran through her veins.

Not that he would ever know the damage his words caused. Nor would he care about the insecurities that wracked her mind and body. He would never know. She was as much a Slytherin as him. Though others often thought otherwise; by then it was too late for them. Not that there were those to truly appreciate the cunning with which she disarmed fellow witches and wizards.

If she could only leave.

But obligation held her strong. Family was the most important thing in the world. Unmarried her father held the strongest claim on her loyalty. Married her husband would.

These were dangerous times, and it was not safe for her to be alone in the world unprotected. If she left she'd be an outcast from all her family, from any friends or acquaintances she knew now. She'd be fair game for both sides of those that fought in this battle.

She was angry at her father for his decision, but she was not stupid. Logic was important. She had to remember the consequences of her actions. Logic and sense; both were important.

Those were that facts. And she did not resent them. It was the way of the world. In the future perhaps it would be different, but the future was exactly that; the future. She needed to concentrate on the here and now. She would be a good wife, in whatever way her husband demanded it. But did she not deserve a husband that would provide protection for herself and any children she would bear? Was she not to have the security knowing that her husband was strong man? A sensible man? He didn't have to be honorable. He didn't even have to be particularly clever so long as he was sly and cunning. She didn't never a vain poppycock obsessed with his looks. As long as he was clean she'd have no cause to complain.

Ducking out the courtyard, Athalie continued along her path to her father's study. She blinked rapidly, her eyes quickly acclimatizing to the dark hallway and the dull gray of stone opposed the bright rays of light outside.

There was little doubt in her mind that Matthew had a hand in this. He'd have a good time laughing at the misfortune of her predicament.

Abandoning caution for the first time in her life Athalie wrenched the iron handle of the wooden door open and let it slam loudly against the wall.

She was left disappointed. There was no one to wonder at the theatrical entrance. Her father clearly did not wish to know her thoughts on the subject.

But he would. She would not embarrass her family by letting the public know of her unhappiness, her disgust and sorrow at such a union but her father would know her thoughts on the subject. And if her was forced to listen to them at wand point so be it.

Her mind yearned for more. She was intelligent, had she not beaten Matthew in exams throughout her entire term at Hogwarts? Often she had broken into the restricted section at the library and devoured the dark arts and black magic eagerly.

The banging of her fathers study door had done little to soothe her, instead of the steely self control which she always possessed the magic of her blood thrummed through her veins, dancing just beneath her skin and whispering persuasively at her to allow it free. It was telling her, as it always did, of how good it would make her feel when the sensations coursed through her body, that ultimate high and then the lethargy that swept through her. And then finally, that satisfied feeling of contentment burning in the pit of her stomach.

Jerking the door open, the laughter in the room she entered ceased. Glancing over the young men in the room, Athalie's gaze passed over them until it settled on the one most familiar.

Her brother sat staring back at her, his eyes laughing, a smirk settled onto his lips.

He knew then.

Courtesy dictated that she greet the guests in her home. She ignored it. "Where is father, Matthew?"

"You have a pressing matter of business to discuss with him?" He enquired, a mockingly polite tone in front of his friends. He knew exactly what she wanted to discuss with their father.

Checking her anger, Athalie continued further into the room, skirting around the chairs scattered about and the people seated in them.

"Nothing for you to concern yourself over brother, I beg you not to distress yourself on my behalf." Her own voice was sickly sweet.

_He blocked her own verbal foil with his own, quickly springing his own attack. In doing so he left himself open to her own attack._

"_Indeed. And as a member of such a distinct family it gives me pleasure to share our fortunate circumstances with those less fortunate than myself, I understand that you feel the same way brother. Walking the estate but a day ago I made note of your own contribution to the families working on our fathers land." _

_It was unfortunate that Matthew's contribution of the number of children springing from the loins of serving maids and farmers wives put more of a strain upon them instead of lessening it._

_She made another sly dig at him, satisfaction riding her as she watched her brothers reaction. Such things were not discussed between family, whether it was between brother and sister or husband and wife. To be discussed in front of friends was scandalous. Nevertheless, she was not particularly bothered about decorum at this moment in time. "You are most generous with your," she paused to draw the seconds out, "coin, brother. As I am sure many could testify."_

_Matthews face was unchanged, but his eyes were livid. She smiled up at him from where he now stood and took a seat to his right._

_The others in the room were watching them silently waiting to see the outcome._

"_Your diligence does you credit sister."_

"_I thank you for the compliment brother. But you flatter me."_

"_Compliment sister? Flattery? I spoke the truth." He assured her with utmost sincerity. "Indeed your husband will be a lucky man should you care for his interests half as well as my own."_

"_Husband? Fear not and put your mind at ease brother, I have no plans to be torn from the bosom of our family just yet." A hint of steel became evident as she bit of the last word of her sentence._

_Tension was thickening in the room, despite it large size. The air felt stuffy and close against her skin._

"_Indeed? Perhaps I have been mistaken, I rather thought that Zachary Abbotts' attention had become most fixed, but it appears then, that his intentions were not completely honourable."_

"_My honour is intact brother, just as it has ever been. Pray do not challenge Zachary to a duel, my heart would be unable to cope with the concern I'd feel for you brother."_

_The look in his eyes promised that she would receive retribution for that last remark. She had embarrassed him in front of his fellow peers, doubted his talent with his wand against Zachary Abbott no less. _

_His fingers curled around the back of her chair, his knuckles white from the force of his grip. _

"_Thank you for your concern sister, though I assure you that you need not worry. I am more than proficient at defending myself."_

"_I would never doubt it brother. Just as you should never doubt my love for you, truly you are the very best of brothers."_

_It had always been a habit of theirs, to refer to each other as brother or sister instead of by name. They had both used it as an insult, rather than a term of affection. Moreover, its use was a key for each of them as to how nettled the other was by their conversation. The number of times it was used and the tone in which it was spoken always a factor in revealing more than each of them was comfortable with._

_She hoped it also served to remind him that she was his sister, the child he had played with when he was younger. His eyes had wandered over her form in a manner far too intimate for brother and sister; his hand had lingered on her arm, in her hair far too often in the last few years. There was a look in his eyes when such a thing happen, it made her feel dirty, ashamed in a way she'd never experienced before._

"_Just as you are the very best sister a brother could ask for. I am sure father feels the same, you are indeed a dutiful daughter and I have no doubt he plans to reward you when the time comes."_

"_You are too kind, though you spoil such a surprise brother!" Athalie scolded him lightly, a smile playing at the corners of her mouth as she spoke. She had spent hours in front of her mirror preparing for a moment such as this and she would not fail herself now. "It is your luck indeed that such a time is far off so that I may be able to push your teasing suggestion to the back of my mind!"_

"_Then I am truly sorry sister, for I feel that the time we speak of is growing ever closer." Athalie's needling of Matthew paid off as he spoke his next words in anger at her seeming composure. If only he could see past her cool façade, he would laugh at her. "I regret to inform you that he has already left for town on business that I am sure relates to you."_

_Finally, an answer at last. Over twenty minutes since she'd asked the question, but an answer none the less, ever if it was spoken in anger._

"_Then pray excuse me brother, I have kept you from your companions too long. If father has important news for me it is only fitting that I am in the correct state to receive it." Standing she smiled calmly at her brother, but anger rolled beneath the calm mask. There was no way that she would be able to intercept her father now, she realized too late now that she had done as her brother wished and dallied sparing words with him instead of continuing on to her destination._

_No doubt the announcements had already been made. There was no escaping it now, only through death would she be free and so was no coward._

"_Gentleman." With a polite but distant nod their direction, her eyes swept over them again. Her brother had the worst taste possible in companions. Adam Nott was sprawled out on the couch next to James Crabbe, who was an imbecile if she had ever met one. His only regaining feature was his wealth, which was just as well since he was too stupid to earn any himself. _

_Dexter Black was slumped in the chair to her left, watching her with lazy eyes as they flickered back and forth between herself and Matthew. All were a similar age to her brother, give or take a few years way; they had played Quidditch together, many years prior on the Slytherin house team. And as the way it is with men and sport a bond had formed between them, if not through genuine meeting of people that like each other, at least through the meeting of people with similar minds and means._

_All were a similar age except for him. Tristan Montague. Athalie rested her eyes on him for a second. For one reason or another, they had never been formally introduced, and despite his apparent friendship with her brother there hadn't been a great many times when she'd seen him at the family estate._

_He was taller than she was, but not overly so. His features were not particularly refined; there was a roughness to the shape of his face, to the bold sweep of his cheekbones and straight lines of his jaw. Green eyes set deep in his face started back at her with speculation, his mind already making calculated guesses and predictions._

_He was an educated man, but from what she knew of his reputation, educated or not he always fought dirty._

_She respected that, but did not fool herself. To set her cap at him would be to fail, and she did not have the inclination to humiliate herself when her brother enjoyed the pastime so well._

_Her family, while secure in their finances and the influence they held were not overly powerful. Their redeeming feature was their pureblood, something becoming rarer and rarer these last few years. There were far better matches that he could make, that he would make. She had not lost anything, he was a man she barley knew, one that she probably never would._

_Spine straight and shoulders back in a display of confidence, Athalie made her way across the room to the door from which she had entered._

"_You will be comforted to know sister that your husband does indeed care for you! The ever charming Zachary Abbott, I confess has professed his love for you, indeed he swore to die for you if there was ever need."_

_The words Matthew called out to her stopped Athalie so quickly she gave herself whiplash. This was worse that she had previously thought. Spinning around to face her brother, Athalie looked at Matthew with a sinking heart. The words he spoke were true._

_They were true. The malicious smile on his face was too smug for him to be lying. _

_It was becoming increasingly difficult to maintain her composure, to remember the strict instructions that had been drilled into her since birth. If she was not careful, she and her brother would have serious argument in public and the feelings she held regarding the marriage between herself and Zachary would become apparent._

"_I can but wish you the same luck in marriage brother."_

"_I hardly think that will be so, you have used up the luck for both of us sister. But come and tell us how it feels to have a man declare he would die for you. After all that it is what all young girls dream of isn't it?"_

"_Some girls perhaps, but I sure you can recall brother, I have never been one for words." It would be far better if he did happen to die, before the ceremony preferably. _

_He smiled a benign smile at her, as if he were a great sovereign bestowing a gift. "My sister is very modest is she not? Come now sister, don't be shy, tell us how it feels to hold the life of Zachary Abbott in your hands."_

"_I give you warning brother; do not provoke me on the subject."_

_There was a pause, and Matthew looked shocked for a second at her announcement, did he not realize it was to make him aware of his friends still currently sitting in the room. There was silence for a minute, broken eventually by Crabbe sliding even further off edge of his chair._

"_Come now sister, don't be shy, tell us how it feels to hold the life of Zachary Abbott in your hands." Matthew repeated the words deliberately. Throwing down the challenge at her feet. _

_Shock me Sister. _

_Hurt me Sister. _

_Humiliate me Sister. _

_Do your worst Sister._

_The dark thrum of magic hummed beneath her skin, beating at her to break free._

"_Tell me how you feel about Zachary Abbott's declaration sister."_

_Athalie snapped, her control finally breaking._

"_Better he should kill for me."_

_She should not have said that._

_Shock met her words. Apparently it was not an answer he was expecting, but then what did he expect? Had he forgotten that she had been in Slytherin as well? Matthew looked at her in stunned silence, not even glancing over to the loud thud of Crabbe sliding off his chair onto the floor._

"_What use is a dead man?" She asked her brother bitterly. "Better he should kill for me. That is how I feel brother."_

_The threads of her self-control began to reach out to each other again, began to tether together. The temperature in the room took a sudden drop, and even the fire-burning fireplace did little to take away the chill._

_The skin prickled along the back of her neck, the small hairs rising beneath the intensity of someone gaze. Montague's, she knew without a doubt there was no one else in the room that could make her feel as self conscious, that had such power.  
_

"_Does that answer your question brother?" Turning away from Matthew, she turned her gaze upon Montague, looking back boldly at him._

_The connection was broken however as Matthew wrapped his hand around her arm, pulling her back to face him._

"_Let go brother." _

"_Why, would you do harm against blood kin sister?"_

_Ignoring the question, she told him yet again to release her arm. The thin threads of self-control were fraying already and so far she had only released a small part of her temper, none of the magic surfacing beneath her skin._

"_Make me sister." He challenged her._

"_Distorqueo Intestunus!" _

_His hand that held her to him dropped abruptly as he fell to the ground with a howl, his arms curling around his stomach as if to protect himself. His body was jerking itself back and forth on the floor involuntarily, limbs wracked with muscle spasms. _

"_You have pushed me too far today brother."_

_Cries of alarms came from several of his friends, they stood tall having leapt from their seats, wary looks were cast in her direction, but they made no move towards her brother. _

_Only Montague looked back at her with indifference, curiosity shining in his eyes as he watched her reaction to the screams she'd induced in her brother._

_Stepping out of reach, she passed through the doorway, and disappeared further down into the corridor. Matthew's screams trailed behind her, the voices of his friends barely discernable._

_What she did hear quite clearly was a deep chuckle, and there was little doubt in her mind as to whom it belonged._

_The sound of Matthew's cries drifted further away with each step Athalie took, and cut off abruptly as she disappeared back out into the gardens, the heavy door closing firmly behind her with a thud, its hinges squeaking with discontent. _

_Taking off at a run, she crossed the green lawns leading away from the manor down to the lake, taking shelter among the shady trees and dense foliage. She had no desire to be discovered just yet. The consequences of her actions would be brought upon her soon enough and she had no desire to feel their weight just yet._

_She would have been in enough trouble had there been no audience, but to cause him such disgrace in front of his peers was unimaginable._

_She would not be disturbed while she was here the soft rustling of the trees and the quiet lapping of the water would soothe her enough to face her face with a tranquillity bordering on lethargy. It would be of no use to scream and shout, to argue. At least not regarding her actions and the curse she'd cast upon her brother. _

_She had learnt long ago to pick her fights and the disagreement that would occur between her and father over her brother was nothing if she intended to win the fight over her impending marriage to Zachary Abbott._

_Taking a deep breathe she felt the frantic beating of her heart slow and the energy pulsing through her blood decrease. _

_Pulling her hair from it's confines and her feet from her slippers she lay back on the thick grass to stare at the sky, determined to take her mind from its depressing thoughts and instead concentrate on a common pastime of cloud watching._

_With a sigh she closed her eyes for a moment, once again becoming lost in her thoughts._

_It was with reluctance sometime later she opened them. _

_A scream welled up as she took notice of the figure looming above her. It was stifled as hand closed over her mouth to keep her quiet. Wriggling Athalie reached down to grasp her wand, but another hand was faster. A sharp snap signalled the disposal of her wand, and the fragments were torn from her grasp._

_Blunt teeth bit down on the hand covering her mouth, a hiss emerged from the figure above her. The hand was pulled from her grasp the same time a voice spoke. "Petrificus Totalus."_

_The spell froze her body, and the chuckle emitted from her captor had the same effect on her soul. Only her eyes were free to move, leaving her to do little more than scowl at Tristan Montague._

"_Now there's a sight to behold." He commented, pleasure colouring his tone as he smirked down at her. His fingers skimmed over her face as he removed several strands of long hair that were obscuring her vision. "Such a pretty little thing, so innocent and pure," he teased, his hand trailing down the side of neck and coming to a halt when it was positioned over her the top of her breast. "And such a black little heart underneath it all."_

_Unable to make a scathing remark or to remove her body from his reach there was little that Athalie could do but glare angrily up at him. The look in her eyes however did little to deter him._

_Instead he settled himself down next to her, his body pressed intimately against her own the upper half of him propped up by his elbow do that he could look down at her._

"_A lesser wizard would ask where you came across that spell. A lesser wizard would ask if you knew what you were doing when you cast that curse. But rest assured, I shall not insult your intelligence._

_The first time I saw you was at Hogwarts and you were placed upon that wobbly stool about to be sorted. _

_The first time I noticed you was January 23rd in 1923. You'd snuck into the library and were holed up in the restricted section. _

_The first time you caught my attention was on the 18__th__ June and you shrunk John Potter's eardrums, you got detention for a week and twenty house points were deducted from Slytherin. It took 3 weeks for them to discover what curse you'd cast, and another week to discover the solution. _

_The first time I wanted you was on the 24th December 1927 at 9:47pm and the first time I realized I would have you was one minute later at 9:48pm. _

_Are you speechless my little sorceress?"_

_A murmured word and a flick of Tristan's wand released her from effects of the spell he'd cast._

_Instantly she tried to roll away from him, but his hand slipped down to her waist stopping the motion and he leant over her to prevent her sitting up. Another flick of his wand and the silencing spell was cast, "Ssshhh," he whispered mockingly, and then the spell slithered off her, but the position of his body kept her still and quiet._

"_Not so much speechless as disturbed." Athalie retorted perturbed by his nearness and past actions of which she centred. What normal person could remember such dates and times?_

_Athalie was unaware she had spoken the question aloud until Tristan answered it with a question of his own._

"_What normal person knows spells to turn the intestines inside out?"_

"_I had limited reading material as a child."_

"_Indeed? That would explain your choices of breaking into the restricted section of the school library then." He conceded._

"_I have very select tastes."_

"_Then we are of the same mind. It pleases me to know that you have no objections."_

"_Objections? Objections to what?"_

"_To our marriage." Said Tristan seriously. "I fear that the nuptials will have to be short and done with some haste, it would be unfortunate that you should be married to Abbott while waiting for me."_

"_My father would not allow such a union Montague."_

"_Your father would not be part of our marriage bed."_

"_Of course he would not, especially since we are never to share a marriage bed. Release me Montague, I shall be missed before long and wish to make my way to the manor before I am found in such a compromising position."_

"_My name is Tristan Athalie, I suggest you use it. And I care little for your father, he would not keep you from me whether he married you to another or not."_

"_While my father might have little to say to that, I imagine my husband certainly would."_

_Tristan snorted in amusement at the thought of Abbott standing up to him. "Hufflepuffs are loyal Athalie, not courageous or have you forgotten? Your father would give you a weak husband. You know this, you've thought it, said it even as you declared it would be better that he kill for you rather than die!_

_You might be married to him and I would still demand your company. There would be little that he could do that would stop me, and he wouldn't have the guts to even do that._

_You are a beautiful witch; I have little doubt that there would be others that would seek favours. Do you believe him strong enough to keep them from you? Do you want to end up like Caitlin McNair? Treated as little more than a party favour? You must have heard the stories, who hasn't? You think the likes of Malfoy and Warrington care whether her husband is in the room when they bend her over the table to fuck her between starter and main course so they may work up an appetite?_

_Your father knows exactly what will happen to you if you marry Abbott. Doesn't seem to care very much does he?"_

"_Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" Athalie felt to sick to her stomach, in vain she tried to bring her hands up to her ears so that she could block out Tristan's words but ruthlessly he held her still. It hurt to believe her father could put her in such a horrible, disgraceful position with such intent, that he wouldn't even care of the distress he would cause her._

_It was disgusting to know the rumours that were always floating around were true! The reality of her situation was brought to the forefront of her mind as Tristan spoke of the degradation that would become a daily part of life if she married Abbott. It was one thing to know of such things and to have suspicions, it was yet another to be told exactly what would happen._

_She might well be strong enough to hold off one or two, but she knew that she would be unable to do so indefinitely. It was the way of their world; the strong survived and took what they wanted while the weak were destroyed._

_Much more of these thoughts and she would not be able to control herself. The shock of her betrothal to Zachary, the events of the afternoon with Matthew, and then these revelations were far too much for her to handle. She needed to compose herself._

"_The branding." Athalie protested, clinging to that one lifeline._

"_Oh…Athalie…" Tristan's hand came up to cup her cheek as he stared down at her in amazement. "Many of those brandings are nothing more than ink. Abbott knows." He whispered. "It was why we were brought here, to be given first claim should we want it-"_

"_No! Don't say it! Don't say it!" It wouldn't be true if he didn't say it. How could her family sell her out like this? Did she matter to them this little because she was a girl? How could they justify such things? This was not a crime committed in war, or against another family, this was a crime against their daughter! Their own flesh and blood!_

_Frantically she tried to push Tristan away; it was not safe for her to be alone with him. If he had responded to her fathers summons…_

"_Athalie," murmured Tristan gruffly trying to soothe her as he pulled her into his arms. She was still fighting him, god she made him proud. Even now, she struggled to preserve her dignity and self-control; even now she refused to shed those tears that were welling up inside her at such a bitter description of the future she would spend with Abbott._

_He knew the vision of frailty she portrayed, the innocence and purity of her looks masked the backbone that held her head high, which helped her withstand her family's actions and Abbott's bumbling courtship._

_Rolling over Tristan pulled Athalie with him, so that she now lay partly over him, he tightened his arms, pushing her head into the crook of his neck. It was a risky move should she decide to incapacitate him, but Athalie was not a stupid woman. The move would also help her feel a little better as well; she would be lulled into thinking that she had some kind of control over the situation._

_She truly was a woman worthy of the Montague name, a woman he would willing call wife._

_Her breathing had quieted, but as soon as he relaxed his grasp on her she began to draw away, an action that displeased him so he tightened his grip on her once again._

"_Let me go Montague, it is improper." Athalie protested, her voice muffled by his robes._

_A chuckle escaped Tristan, and he buried one of his hands into the thick stands of Athalie's hair watching with satisfaction as they slid between his fingers and trailed over the back of his hand._

"_What is improper about a betrothed comforting the woman who is to become his wife?"_

"_Nothing, however I feel it imperative to point out to you that we are not betrothed, nor will we ever be, so therefore your behaviour is quite scandalous and I have no wish to be branded a harlot by association."_

"_If anyone ever insinuates such a thing they will have cause to regret it."_

"_I will give them no cause."_

"_Of course you won't, you'll be the perfect wife in society and everything else I could want in a women, in my wife behind closed doors."_

"_I will be nothing of yours Montague." Athalie spat having had enough of the charade that had been playing out. _

_Before she could remove herself out of his arms, Tristan wrenched her head back and flipped them over so that she was trapped beneath him. He crushed his lips against her own, the kiss hard as he took what he wanted with a savage intensity she'd never seen, never experienced in any man before._

"_Never deny what is between us Athalie. Never ever deny the fact that you belong to me."_

_--------------------_

Coming back to the world with a bump, Angelina turned back to the woman in the portrait, to Athalie, and stared at her for a long moment.

"W-what…what did you just do?"

A small laugh came from Athalie, "Nothing in this house is as it seems. Remember that Angelina, for it even applies to the men that own it."

Brushing off the comment with a frown, Angelina turned her attention to more important matters.

"So what happened afterwards?" She asked with a burning curiosity, now that she had seen the beginning of Athalie and Tristan she wanted to see the end, to know how he had changed into the man Athalie spoke so fondly of.

"That…" Athalie paused with a sigh, a small smile playing around the corners of her mouth. It was a true smile Angelina realized, a smile that portrayed happiness, the real thing not a front put up to convince others. "That is something that stays between Tristan and I, I'm sure there are memories that will stay just between you and Montague.

However I think it is a prerogative of all Montague's to make other wizards and circumstances so bad that as the alternative they seem heavenly."

An inelegant snort escaped Angelina breaking the moment of reflection Athalie was residing in. She'd rather think of it being insecurity rather than a prerogative, but who was she to judge?

"Well, if he hasn't created those memories yet you can be sure he will do soon. Was my grandson that inept at the Missum ceremony? Surely you must understand that he has not performed such a ritual before."

"I have no idea how apt your grandson was at such a ritual!" Seeing the confusion on Athalie's face Angelina expanded her explanation. "I woke up like this. I went to sleep and the following morning I woke alone with this giant tattoo stretched across my back and a necklace that will not allow me to take it off! So tell my Athalie, how apt is your precious grandson Alexander?"

"You weren't awake for it? Well, that a new approach to be sure!"

"How do I get rid of the necklace and the tattoo? How do I put an end to the effects of this ceremony? How do I break this supposed 'marriage?'?"

The pleasant demeanour that Athalie had portrayed so far in their encounter faded, a serious look entering her eyes, her mouth forming a grim line.

"Allow me to impart a piece of very valuable advice Angelina. Never deny the relationship or connection between you and Alexander, either in private or the company of others whether he is present or not. Tristan warned me once, and I made sure never to mention it again, it would have only ended badly.

Moreover, I dread to think of Alexander's reaction considering you were not an active participant in the binding ceremony. If I did not know my grandson better I would assume those bruises covering your skin were left by his hand."

No, Montague had never raised his hand to her. He grabbed her, shook her, snarled at her and trapped her body with his own but he had never hit her. The only bruises Montague ever left upon her skin were the result of a long night spent together.

"Montague has done many things, but he hasn't hit me." Said Angelina. Just to clarify things, not because she was defending him although the smirk on Athalie's face assured her it was only herself she was fooling. It was that which made her add as an afterthought, "Well not recently at any rate."

"He hit you?" For the first time in their meeting Athalie's voice rose.

Angelina shrugged absently. "What happens on the Quidditch pitch stays on the Quidditch pitch."

"But other than that?"

"Well there was one time back in my 5th year at Hogwarts but he was aiming for Fred and I got in the way. Clipped my chin." Angelina glanced up at Athalie, and took note of her pale countenance. "Why, did Tristan beat you?"

"Never! Tristan may have been a bastard to everyone he knew but never to me! We might have had arguments like every married couple but he never lifted his wand or hand to me like my father often did to my mother.

Say such a thing about my husband again and you shall not enjoy your time here as Mistress. Portrait or not my power still reaches far."

Realizing she had hurt Athalie, rather than caused offence, Angelina apologized to the woman, guilty to having jumped to such conclusions. Her words were just in time as Athalie made to depart the picture.

There was a grave look on her face as Athalie spoke again after a long moment. "You will come to understand before long child. Tristan was never a paragon of virtue, no man is…but, Montague men as I am sure you have realised are so much more. Vengeful, manipulative, ambitious, greedy, not loyal to anyone other than those they care for. Montague men can be very dangerous.

There is not much that you can defend them in and that hurts child, to listen to slander about the one you love and to know that you cannot defend them because it is true. Not that they need you to fight their corner but you will want to, you will want the world to see the man that you have seen in them, the man that you fell in love with, the man they are with you.

When you find something you can defend them in, it is easy to get carried away."

"I truly am sorry Athalie. I never meant to insult him."

"I know. If you had meant too I would have left by now. But for all his faults, Tristan was a good husband to me. It was unfortunate our son lacked a backbone but none of the Montague vices, a trait that comes from my bloodline to be sure."

"What happen to Montague's father?" Angelina enquired tentatively.

"His ambition killed him; it could have destroyed the family, everything that we have worked for throughout the generations if Alexander took after his father and not his grandfather."

"His mother?"

A hint of the same underlying steel entered her voice and ice into her eyes, much the same as when she'd defended Tristan. "She turned traitor to the Montague family and she was dealt with accordingly."

"Montague." Angelina whispered to herself. Montague had killed his own mother for betraying their family.

"It was him or her; do not hold this against him." Athalie told her. There was a quick quirk of her lips and then she spoke again. "It might be better if you got into the habit of addressing Alexander by his first name, you might find that he is surprisingly more receptive to any schemes you concoct, or any advances you make."

Angelina spoke haltingly; not wanting to upset such a font of information especially considering the woman was a younger version of Montague's grandmother. "You seem very happy and secure in your position of the Montague family despite your initial…doubts." Floundering Angelina settled on the word but it still seemed inadequate for what she was trying to say. "Did you not feel suppressed, suffocated at all by the tattoo and necklace?"

Athalie studied her with narrowed eyes, a slight frown marring the smooth features she was blessed with.

"I don't wish to-"

"My grandson has not spoken at all on these subjects?" She asked.

Angelina shook her head mutely.

"I suggest you pull up a seat child, there is much to tell and I have no doubt that you will be plagued by questions once I have completed my narrative."

Crossing over to the large dressing table, Angelina withdrew the seat from under it and moved it across so that she could face Athalie as they spoke.

"I suppose it is better to start at the beginning," She mused. "So that is what I shall do. As you know many years ago, unions between witches and wizards were based on far more than love.

Essentially both the tattoo and the necklace are used as components to ensure that the women will never leave her husband, that no matter what he might do she will not walk away. You might find in time however, that such things are not needed to keep you by his side as I did.

The branding ritual, or ceremony, whichever you prefer, was introduced after a particularly powerful wizard was cuckolded and murdered by his wife and her lover. Initially the brand was used as a way to mark a wizard's property, a sort of chastity belt. Whether a woman wanted a lover or not was irrelevant, so long as she was bound by the ritual such a thing was not possible, and as an extra precaution the spell was crafted so that the wife would be unable to attack her husband through her own will or another's.

Who attacked you?"

"Warrington."

Athalie nodded and continued. "When he attacked, he used magic, yes?" She asked for confirmation. "And each spell he cast only took hold momentarily before sliding off?"

Angelina nodded for a second time agreeing to the question that was posed more as a statement.

"It's built into the ritual as a protection component. The tattoo is specifically for your own safety and co-operation through either fear or lust. You see, originally the tattoo was little more than a brand, but over time modifications have been made to it.

In 1418, Henry Montague married his wife Esme. Neither of them cared for the marriage but they were both of an acceptable age, and an alliance was needed between the two families. Henry came up with the idea of being able to control his wife through the tattoo with the threat of lust or pain.

His wife made the affair of heirs difficult for him. Esme hated the Henry, and it was said that he did not care much for her. Henry often confessed that she was a nag and a nuisance when he had drank far too much mead. However, his wife was also a woman obsessed with self-control, and was not prone to bouts of hysteria.

At this point in their marriage she had bore him one son, but Henry wished for other children. They were useful in forming connections and allegiances such as his own marriage had been but he was also aware of the mortality rate among children and wanted an insurance policy as such.

Esme was adverse to this; as far as she was concerned, she had completed her duty to her husband.

Henry could have forced her, no one would have questioned it she was after all his wife, little more than a possession he could do what he wanted with. The idea of raping the women that would become the mother of his children was distasteful. What effect would it have on the child in her womb should he be lucky enough that she should conceive?

Henry let this pass and set about improving the brand his wife wore. In the end, he was able to induce lust or pain, and through those, fear.

Esme as you can imagine was not particularly pleased by this latest turn of events, although from Henry's point of view the marriage became much more acceptable. He'd found a way to curb his wife's displeasing tendencies as he only had to mention how much he enjoyed her lack of restraint. There were another four children born within the following four years.

You see the tattoo also allows each partner to understand what the other craves, needs during the union. Although that modification was made later by Henry's son Lester."

The last part of Athalie's speech caught her attention and a memory rose from where it had been banished to the back of her mind.

_Even in the darkness of the room, and the shadows he was hidden in, she could see the ire in his eyes, the straight lines of his body as he watched her. Fingers shot out, grabbing her chin in a punishing grip and much to her later dismay, she gave a whimper as lips covered hers in a brutal kiss. Montague's tongue forced it's way passed her own, dominating her tongue, and taking possession of her mouth. _

_Something inside told her to relax, and she obeyed allowing her body to become passive as she stopped fighting the intrusive kiss. She was rewarded almost immediately, as if sensing she had submitted to his will Montague's grip on her jaw slackened and his hand burrowed up into her hair as the frenzied kiss slowed down to a more familiar pace, no less brutal, no less demanding, no less possessive, but almost leisurely._

Breaking away from the though of Montague's kiss another thought occurred.

"Well, what about the necklace how does that tie into the tattoo?"

"Once again the necklace was designed with the safety of the Mistress in mind. The necklace unlike the tattoo is a blood binding. This means that any particularly strong emotions are felt by the other, either pain or desire."

So it hadn't been her then. The attack in her kitchen had been made on Montague, not her. She'd merely felt the side effects of it.

_A scream tore from her throat as knees buckled beneath her sending her crashing to the floor. She didn't register that she scream she had heard was her own until pain unlike she had ever felt before ripped through her body, whimpers and cries, choked screams and gasps for air were pulled from her body as she curled up into a foetal position on the floor. _

_Kat lurched up from her chair hearing the tremendous thud and scream of her sister. "Angie? Angie?" Her hand reached out to touch her sister but was withdrawn as if burnt when her sister's torment only increased. _

_Angelina's fingers scrabbled over the floor, fists clenching and unclenching as if searching for something that she dig her fingers in._

_It was so difficult to breathe! So difficult! So painful! She whimpered. Oh god, it was unlike anything that she had ever felt before. Vaguely she heard her name being called by a hazy voice that seemed familiar. Hands were touching her even as she told them to stop!_

_There was something cold and heavy around her throat but it provided little comfort. There was a burning sensation on her lower back that was reminiscent of when Montague had been proving a point but this was intensified a hundred times._

_What was happening to her? What was causing this?_

_As quickly as the pain started it stopped leaving her as a heaving sweating mass lying on her kitchen floor. Dimly she was aware of the fact that she was shaking, trembling throughout and that her eyes were still squeezed shut. Pain still lingered, but it was a dull aching sensation now, nothing like the hot sharp pain previously_

"The stone also holds the location or locations of whoever's blood it holds. That means that any tracers, or location spells put out looking for you or Alexander will be unable to find either of you.

The stronger the bond between the witch and the wizard, and the more powerful the wizard the stronger the necklace and its capabilities.

Understand child, the tattoo was designed with the witch solely in mind, either through fear or through lust, while the necklace was crafted for the safety of both. It links together emotions, you cannot shut Alexander out."

"But-"

"Try all you wish Angelina, but it is impossible, any strong emotions felt by either party had to be known by the other. The necklace not only draws on magic but on emotions as well. Trying to block the partner, you are linked to will do nothing but let them know you wish to shut them out.

And one thing with Montague men is that when they are denied something they fight all the harder for it and far dirtier by our standards.

Why do you think that Montague gave you no choice in the matter of your position in our family and the treasures he has bestowed on you?"

"Choice? What choice? Had Montague raised this matter with me there would have been no choice to make!"

"You would have refused him." Athalie told her sagely, taking the very words from her mouth, although phrased in a far more polite manner.

"Exactly!"

Now Athalie was smiling at her, laughter lurking in her eyes as she agreed. "Exactly."

Angelina had stood previously in the excitement of her exclamation. She slumped back down in the tall backed chair as realization hit her. She was so tired. Tired of fighting, losing, and being confused and overestimating herself.

"Do not be disheartened Angelina. Alexander must think a lot of you if he is willing to go to such lengths to secure you for himself."

She immediately rejected the words spoken. "I would have been happier without him! If he thought so much of me why doesn't he leave me alone?"

"He will make you happy child. If he decides to make you happy he will succeed." A proud smile broke out across her face. "He is a Montague. One worthy of his place. A man that will accept only the best of whatever life offers.

"He may be all that for you Athalie, but don't expect me to feel the same way about him! He may do what he wishes with his life but he can leave me out of it. I won't be controlled by him; I won't be controlled by any man!"

"Everyone is controlled by something or someone girl. Whether is hate, fear, anger or lust, love, duty, mother, father, brother, sister, husband, or wife. It makes no difference. Everyone is controlled something. The only thing you can do is find out what your weakness is and try to overcome it. If my grandson can control you, make sure that you are equally capable of controlling him."

"I…I can't believe…that, this! This is your advice to me! I don't care about controlling Montague-"

"Alexander." Athalie chided.

"- I just want to be rid of him."

"Well that will prove to be somewhat of a problem!"

"Earlier! Earlier you called his actions a 'new approach!' What did you mean by that?"

"When each of the rituals takes place, they are slightly similar to a wedding ceremony. A wedding allows each of the participants their chance to object or make their vows accordingly. In the wedding however both must speak to make their vows and voice their agreement. In these rituals such words are not needed, by not objecting you were agreeing."

"But I was unconscious!"

There was a small shrug, but no show of sympathy from Athalie as she dismissed Angelina's words with a wave of her hand. "That is of little matter. There is more than one way to skin a puffskin."

"But it's ridiculous." Protested Angelina, dismay echoing in her words. "Do you have any idea the number of marriages witches could be forced into if this became common knowledge?"

"Don't be stupid child. Even in my day very few knew of such magic. Even back then the purebloods were beginning to die out, as children became more headstrong and dangerous, more of a liability to parents fewer and fewer of them were taught these spells and curses. And even then, not all of them had the ability to cast them. No more than a handful have that kind of power, you were simply unlucky that you attracted Alexander's attention and he is one of the few that has such power."

"That's it? That is all you can say? It's 'unlucky' that I attracted 'Alexander's attention,' and that he is one of the few with the 'ability' to cast such spells! That makes it alright?! That just because I've been trapped into this sham it doesn't mean that all witches do!" So angry that she was having trouble forming words Angelina stood abruptly from the chair, the legs grating on the marble floor of the bathroom. It…it was beyond comprehension. It was just as well Montague wasn't the one telling her, other wise she'd be held up for murder before you could say avada kedava! Stomping away from the rim of the bath, she started pacing trying to rid the energy swirling inside her.

The stone around her throat went cold, and the impression of Montague, frowning at her in concern pushed itself into her minds eye. Enraged that he would even interrupt what little solitude and sanity she had left in her mind, and hardly thinking about what she was doing she sent the full force of her anger down their little link. "Bastard!" She hissed spitefully between clenched teeth.

"His parents were married when he was born, even if they were not when he was conceived." Athalie informed her. She watched Angelina for a few moments with pursed lips and narrowed eyes. "My grandson did well in choosing you, although I begin to wonder if he has bitten off more than he can chew and finally meet him match.

Make sure you keep him on his toes child!" A gay laugh rose from her throat. "Montague men march all over you if you're not careful!" With those parting words she turned and disappeared out of the portrait.

"Wait!" Angelina called out belatedly, but Athalie had already left her alone. "I've still got so many…questions."

Questions that it appeared she would have to answer herself. Taking a deep breath, Angelina tried to look at things objectively.

Ok…deep breath…Now, Montague had tied the necklace around her throat, and stamped his mark upon her back on movie night. He wouldn't have had time to do it when Charlotte or Kat were present, from what she had gleaned from Athalie they would have taken up a large portion of the night. Ok so thinking back…

_Pulling the locks into place behind her, Angelina walked over to the couch and coffee table where she started gathering the wine glasses and napkins, taking them into the kitchen so she could wash up and dispose of the rubbish._

_She jumped when she felt him kiss the base of her neck, felt him smile against the skin at her reaction, his hands trailed down her arms, and removed the items out of them._

"_From one kind of work to another." He mumbled as he wrapped his arms around her waist, pulling her against him. "What say we move this into the bedroom? Unless you'd like me to screw you over the kitchen counter?"_

_Angelina didn't say anything. What was there to say? She was trapped. There was no way out, was there? Who could she go to? With those thoughts spinning around her head, she allowed herself to be led away._

And then after that, nothing. Nada. Zilch. Zip. The next thing she was aware of was waking up and vomiting.

Now, the next question was how. If what Athalie said was true, then the chances were that Montague had either drugged her or cast a sleeping spell so that she would not oppose him during the rituals and put an early end to his plans. That would also explain what Fred had ranted and raved about during the Ministry Ball. How he had bellowed at her for allowing Montague to do such a thing, and she had screamed back, albeit silently, that she hadn't allowed him to do anything. She'd been adamant then, and she still was now.

And Montague knew then, just as he knew now that she would not be receptive to such a thing, and that was in part responsible for the course of action he had chosen. It was no excuse, but at least she could understand the reasoning behind it.

Although why she would want to understand him was beyond her.

So, the big subject up for debate now is what does this mean for her? Athalie referred to her as the current mistress, which meant she was essentially Montague's wife. A position that she had though of as more repulsive, especially now she was stuck in it. She had neither the time nor desire for wizarding politics that came with such a title.

She was not a witch whose sole aim in life was to deplete the Montague gallons that were gathering dust in the family vaults. She had little interest in the kind of charities that such women represented, where the names of members and founders were more important than the cause.

And by the magic in her blood Montague would understand that.

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A/N: So, what do you think?


	22. Chapter 20

A/N: A big, big, big thankyou to my beta's Gemma and Polaris for doing such a wonderful job.

Thanks to all those that took the time to review, I hope you enjoy the next instalment. Be sure to let me know what you think!

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It was inevitable that Order meetings dragged on for Montague. This one, however, seemed to go on longer than all the others combined. He had to admit it; none of the others had included Angelina Johnson waiting at home for him, even if she was in a towering temper by now.

What had started as a way to distract her so that he might leave was now having the annoying effect of distracting him while he was stuck in the meeting. Knowing that it would be far too easy to pick up where he left off, as he had every intention of doing when this bloody meeting was called to an end!

Merlin! But these bloody half-bloods, mudbloods and blood traitors could go on!

"Thank you, Severus, for that information." Dumbledore's voice was grave as he gave his thanks. It was the next words spoken by him though, that dragged Montague's attention from his thoughts.

"How has Miss Johnson dealt with the ramifications of the celebrations that took place? I trust that there were no problems regarding her safety during the course of the evening."

_No, no at all,_ Montague thought sarcastically. She was merely horrified by the manner of depravity she witnessed by the so called pillars of wizarding society, which included several ministry poster boys for the fight against Voldemort. He'd confiscated her wand and continued to act as a complete bastard that had sent her off on her own in castle she didn't know surrounded by witches and wizards high on sex, blood and potions so that she might very nearly get raped and beaten by Warrington, which had resulted in her seducing him, and the consideration that she might be better off if she threw herself from one of the towers accessible from his apartments the following morning.

Glancing towards the aging wizard, Montague spoke. "A slight hiccup during the festivities, but nothing that wasn't soon overcome." It was true; the British were nothing if not the masters of the great understatement.

"And this 'slight hiccup?'" The headmaster pressed onwards.

There was pause, and Montague answered, "Removed."

"And how did you deal with Miss Johnson, once this 'slight hiccup' had been 'removed?'"

_I fucked her._ The words were on the tip of his tongue, but it was with a bewildering feeling that Montague found he could not speak them, could not force them pass his lips and over the table laden with tea and scones and into the open. It was not…right. An odd concept, since he had never cared about right and wrong before, but none the less it wasn't right.

It would cheapen the night, his victory that she had come to him. It was not something that should be discussed with others; she was his, and therefore only he was entitled to know what went on between them with regards to the, as his grandmother would phrase it, 'bedroom matters,' although he had many plans that such dalliances would not take place solely in bed, either his or hers. There was his desk in the study, the great dinning table in formal dining room, the daybed in the library, the bath tub and showers connected to the master bedrooms, and many other nooks and crannies that could be explored by them. The grounds on his estates were large, with numerous secluded spots…

A chill scuttled along his spine, breaking his attention away from his pleasant thoughts. Something was wrong, a slight frown creasing his brow he let his magic flare out along his link to Angelina. She was upset, and pissed at him if the scowl she threw back at him was any indication.

Bloody hell! If she'd met his grandmother she'd have good reason to be angry and upset. Merlin only knew what the interfering old bat had been blabbing about. And to think what Angelina had told her about their relationship…

His grandmother was a good woman; his grandfather's affection for her was well-known, much to the disgust of the elite circles in which they had traveled. When it has become clear that Athalie Montague was not a wife that would be shared, there were those that rebelled against that decision.

They had been dealt with quickly and efficiently and there had been no more claims made on his grandmother.

And if wizards were stupid enough to act against his grandfather, he had been stupid to think that they wouldn't act against him. Warrington was proof of that.

"Montague?"

"Hmmm?"

Fred sniggered, his eyes snapping maliciously at Montague's embarrassment at being caught unawares.

"I asked how you dealt with Miss Johnson once this 'slight hiccup' had been 'removed,' Dumbledore explained. "Would you care to fill me in?"

"No. Not particularly. But rest assured, I was most sympathetic and sensitive towards her plight." He tossed a handsome smile towards Dumbledore, knowing exactly what they thought his idea of being sensitive and sympathetic included. If the words had not made them worry, the smile accompanying them certainly would.

Predictably, several members of the order stiffened, and just as predictable, _several_ members (also known as Snape and Nott) smirked.

"Come, come," Montague cajoled. "Would I cause such pain, inflict such damage on my relationship, and I use that word lightly, _relationship_, when I know what a valuable woman I have sitting in the palm of my hand? I think not. I am not nearly stupid enough to throw her away. At least yet at any rate." The last two sentences were aimed at the stewing redhead at the end of the table, accompanied by his mudblood bitch. Not that he had any intention of ever letting Angelina Johnson out of his grasp or out of his bed, but they didn't know that, although she might be beginning to know that, if he was lucky. He rather thought, however, that he was merely being optimistic; an unusual characteristic, considering he was a Slytherin. But then again, he was nothing but determined and once he set his mind to it, eventually his mission would be complete. So maybe he wasn't being optimistic, but instead clairvoyant. A chuckle escaped his lips.

"You find it amusing do you, Montague, to tarnish the innocence of a young woman?" George asked, who happened to be sitting opposite him.

Montague smirked at him. "No, indeed. I was thinking of something else entirely. Something far more amusing. You see once you've ruined one woman, you've ruined them all. It gets boring after a time."

"Be that as it may, I asked you a question, Montague, regarding Miss Johnson and you have yet to provide me with an answer." Dumbledore interrupted before anything could get out of hand.

"You asked me if I wished to answer your question, and I replied no. Miss Johnson is of no concern of yours." There, a steel beneath the softly spoken words, a razor sharp edge ready to hack away at anyone stupid enough to push him on this subject.

Evidently Dumbledore took the warning, because he only sighed and then adjourned the meeting.

"Good timing, too," Molly Weasley announced. "I've a pie in the oven that should be ready, who is to stay for lunch? Moody? Tonks? Kingsley? I've some lovely new potatoes freshly brought, with plenty of butter to smother them in and fresh greens. You've really got to make sure that you're eating properly and keeping your strength up. Snape? Nott?" There was a pause and then, "Montague?" The invitation was merely courtesy, and she always offered, just as he always declined, as did Nott and Snape. One day he would really have to accept, just for the chance to piss them off, however he was not in the mood for a brawl this lunch time. And a brawl was exactly what would happen if he was closeted in a room with the Weasley twins for much longer.

"No, thanks," Montague replied, licking his lips, "I've already got plans today, for two."

"It makes me wonder, Montague," Fred commented snidely, "of what her father would think if he knew his precious daughter was consorting with the likes of you?"

The temperature in the room took a literal drop as the words bounced off the walls. It was a well-known fact that Angelina's father, Benjamin Johnson, was not a man that tolerated the Dark Arts or any people related to them. His wife had died during the first rising of Voldemort, and in his grief he had cut himself off from the wizarding world, choosing to become a recluse in the Muggle world that existed beyond the wizarding realm.

"Just imagine how he would react to his darling daughter if he knew she was fucking a Death Eater, the kind of man that killed her mother, his wife!"

"Fred, shut up!" hissed George, casting an anxious look at his mother who was looking at her son in shock.

Rage descended upon Montague, pounded through his temples at the thought that Fred Weasley might successfully turn Angelina's family against her. She lived for them, loved them so completely that it was difficult for him to understand her devotion to them, especially those that weren't her own blood. Such a breach between them could destroy her, could actually turn her against him so that she felt nothing but hate.

No one in the room was moving, Fred was still ranting about the consequences that such an action could result in. Various people had made attempts to stop him, although no one as of yet had appeared to realize _silencio_ would be perfectly acceptable.

Power was pulsing underneath his skin, rushing through his veins with his blood, feeding not only off his emotions but Angelina's anger at her imprisonment as well.

The wooden chair scraped across the stone flooring, putting a cease to the malicious verbal venom sprouting from Weasley's mouth. Slowly Montague drew himself up, allowed his presence to fill the room in such a way he rarely allowed himself to do. A good spy was not seen, not heard, never ever remembered.

His eyes were dark with rage, glittering madly at the thought of an incompetent wizard destroying not only his plans for Voldemort, but those he had in place for Angelina. The thought that such a wizard would knowingly rip apart her world as she knew, just because she had been unfortunate enough to catch his attention.

He knew that; knew he was not good enough for her; knew that one such as him should never have touched her.

There was so much blood on his hands it had soaked into his skin and stained his heart and soul black and rotten. Not that they weren't already (what little he had of them, anyway).

He knew all of that and yet he could not let her go, would not let her go. He was a selfish bastard. It was hereditary.

He knew exactly what he was doing, the pain it could—no, _would_—cause, and yet he still did it anyway, fully aware of the consequences of what would follow. But he hadn't thought that Weasley would be deliberately cruel enough to go running to her father…

It appeared Warrington wasn't the only one he had under-estimated after all.

"Whatever thoughts you have running through your head, put a stop to them this instant," Montague advised Weasley softly.

What Warrington had done was despicable, he knew that. But it wouldn't break Angelina; it might give her a few cracks and dents (figuratively speaking) but nothing that she wouldn't recover from. She was a strong witch, far too strong to allow someone like Warrington to hold her back. But if Weasley went running to her father…now _that_ could break her. The loss and disgust, the anger her family would feel at her betrayal. She would try to explain, would beg for forgiveness, for them to understand what she was doing, she'd tell them the truth: 'He threatened to kill you!' They'd scorn her naivety, why hadn't she to gone to the Aurors? Why hadn't she come to them and explained? They'd argue that she was stupid to believe that one wizard had such power!

But he did have such power; the power he held at his fingertips, the power of black magic, money, influence, blackmail…it was a heady thing. But was it enough to keep Angelina safe from the one thing that could destroy Angelina, the witch he had spent to much time plotting to hold in the palm of his hand?

"Why? Does it worry you, Montague? Does it worry you how he might react to his daughter willingly fucking you? Willingly fucking a Death Eater?"

It did, and that was precisely the problem. He'd never been accused of being a Death Eater right out, but his family was known for its strict pureblood opinions, and they'd never been the nicest of families. They'd often been involved in activities that were slightly less than legal, and some that were downright illegal. But just because they'd never been caught didn't mean that rumors didn't spread and grow.

"You go to her father on this, Weasley, and I swear on the very blood that runs through my veins I _will_ destroy you." Montague's voice was so low, it was barely more than a whisper, but not even a fool would have ignored the way it sliced to the very heart of the matter.

"Death? You think that you could scare me off with death? Should anything happen to me, every person in this room could bear witness to the fact that you threatened me. You cannot lay a finger on me."

There was a long pause, as Montague studied the red-haired wizard in front of him almost mockingly.

"Death? Who said anything about death? Death would immortalize you, it wouldn't destroy you. But let me tell you something: you cause any trouble, any trouble at all for Angelina, and I won't just destroy you, I'll destroy your entire fucking family. Lily: you might want to consider putting in something about Fred here, like: "As Montague continued speaking, all the color seemed to drain from Fred/Weasley's face, though he retained its scornful look." It's an awful lot of dialogue, and breaking it up with descriptive passages will make things easier on the reader.

"Would you like to know what I could do to them? Your father will lose his job due to necessary shortages and would be unable to find another. Gringotts would foreclose on the shack you call a home, your oldest brother, William, will be ousted in society as a werewolf, Charlie will be suspended and fired from his job on the dragon reserve due to neglect and cruelty to his charges, Percy will find himself trapped in several compromising positions with male and female persons of ill-repute, Ron will find himself shunned from the wizarding hours after he's found charged with treasonous acts against the Ministry of Magic, the truth of Potter's fortune will be published in the Daily Prophet and your little sister made known to the world as a money-grabbing, power-hungry whore who was seduced by the Dark Lord.

As for you and your twin, do you want to know what I'll do? I make damn sure no one will trade with you. You'll have problem after problem when it comes to shipping your merchandise, your lease will be cancelled on your shop, numerous workplace inspections for health and safety, claims made against you regarding sexual harassment involving a few of your former employees, and customers will sue due to defects in their health after using your products. I will bring you to your knees and watch your grovel before me like the flobberworm you are."

And (just simply because he couldn't resist) Montague then carried onto announce, "And then I will kill you. Now that, Weasley, is just off the top of my head. Still want to go running to her father?"

There was a deafening silence, broken by a scoffing snort. "Even you don't have that kind of power and influence, Montague."

Montague raised an eyebrow in a questioning manner. "Try me," he baited Fred. "Try me," he repeated succinctly.

"Now listen here, Frederick Weasley, you are to go nowhere near that good-for-nothing girl!" Molly Weasley announced.

Montague's body snapped taunt with tension once again, his dark eyes flickering with anger. The air thickened with anger once again.

"Get your facts right first, you stupid bitch," he sneered at Mrs. Weasley. "Just how many people know that you were banging the mudblood as your bit on the side?" his attention had shifted to Fred, a vein throbbing at his temple. Merlin, it made him sick. Just how many people thought his witch was in the wrong here? Did they not know her at all?

"Montague! I really must protest at such vulgar language!" McGonagall broke in, her voice a pitch higher with shock.

"Protest all you want, but I don't give a shit," Montague snapped. "Just what _exactly_ did your precious son tell you, Mother Weasley? That his fiancé was running around with other witches and wizards and she didn't care how much she hurt him? That the little mudblood had been a rock for him, someone to confide in and lean upon, and as he realised it was over with that scarlet woman he'd once loved he realised he had feelings for someone else." Montague nodded to himself. "Yeah, I bet that's exactly what he told you. Unfortunately, it was your son fucking his bit on the side, and he was unfortunate enough to be caught in the act by his fiancé who was intelligent enough to walk out the door and never look back. Try explaining _that_ to Mummy, Weasley," hissed Montague, who, without another look, walked out the door.

Disgust rippled across Montague's stern features as he moved further down the dark tunnels. The air stank with the metallic tinge of blood running free, the acridstink of rotten flesh catching at the back of his throat and hanging there, searching for an escape from the death it surrounded.

Something caught on the bottom of his shoe; the squashing sound signaling that the liquid (blood, water, or piss, but most likely a mixture of all three) had been squeezed from whatever he'd had the unfortunate luck to step on.

Bloody typical. If he'd known at the start of the morning that this was where he'd end up this afternoon, he'd have never worn his new pair of dragon-hide shoes. He was very particular about his shoes, and always had been, even as a child. And the knowledge that whatever he'd stepped in was now coating the shiny new leather of shoes that he'd gone to the trouble of breaking in was, oddly enough, painful.

Shaking whatever it was off with a quick flick of his foot, and making a silent promise to cause a great deal suffering to whomever it was that he had to meet in the dank tunnels, he continued on his way.

There was a reason he'd been sent on this particular assignment. He knew how to trade, knew how to bargain, how to test the merchandise and ensure that it was the best, that his Dark Lord wasn't being ripped off and how much it was worth. It was one of the reasons he'd been recruited.

After his parents had attempted to strip the family coiffures bare in their own ways, he'd been left to fill the empty vaults, to ensure that the Montague family regained their standing. And trade, along with stocks and shares, had done just that.

It turned out he had a knack for it, and the funds quickly grew, and despite the disapproving looks his grandfather sent his way, and the snide comments made he continued even after he had regained his fortune, no matter that it was seen as common, dirty work not worthy of a wizard with his standing.

It was phase they said, he was merely running a little wild after the violent death of his mother and father which occurred within such a short space of time. They were sympathetic to begin with, then disdainful when he'd made his fortune and stated no intention of giving his 'hobby' up, and then they'd grown silent, awed by the sheer amount of money he made, the connections he had and the holding's he'd accumulated.

It was still whispered about, but never mentioned to his face anymore.

And if anyone knew that all he imported and exported wasn't completely legal it wasn't ever mentioned. It was through such business that he'd come across others like him. Men that were just as ruthless and powerful, whose souls like his weren't sparkling clean, but covered in dust and grime, and, most of all: blood.

He'd help them, and they'd help him, but such business dealings were never valued in gold. They were far too valuable for that.

He'd meet wizards he respected.

He'd meet wizards he admired.

He'd meet wizards that he was wary of.

He'd meet wizards that were nothing but scum.

Just like the little bastard that had him trudging though fuck knows what to collect an artifact he claimed was the real thing, but would be a forgery. Probably a cheap one at that.

Smarmy little mother-fucker was going to get what was coming to him.

A noise ahead stopped Montague in his tracks. A muffled curse floated down to him, followed by the sound of falling rumble. A light flickered from around the corner confirming the others position.

Drawing his wand, Montague wrapped his fingers around the slim piece of wood, feeling the smooth grain under his fingers.

"Stupefy!"

With a flick of his wand Montague froze the other wizard, holding back for a second before advancing on him.

"Incarcerous!" Another swish and flick and the heap was bound with ropes, allowing Montague to remove stunning spell.

Immediately the lump started to wriggle and squirm, cursing as he did so.

Bending forward Montague plucked the wizards wand from hand pocket and snapped it in half. The wizard gave a cry of horror as he heard the snap and slumped forwards in despair, it was a shame that his mouth wasn't as still as the rest of his body.

"Shut up." Montague told him indifferently.

"Son of a mudblood! You cock sucking, ass kissing bastard! I'll fucking kill you for this, you hear! I'll-"

Having had enough of being verbally abused by his captive, Montague swiftly booted him in the face. "Shut up."

A gargle broke forth from the captive, and a hiss was pushed between his teeth. "I'll-"

Montague's foot booted his face again. "I said shut up! I've told you three times now, I won't ask again."

"Fuckin' pansy, you ain't got the balls to do anything to me!"

A sneer pulled at Montague's lips as he looked down at his captive, crouching down his hand grasped the wizard's greasy hair and wrenched his head up and back so they were eye to eye.

"Third time's the charm, sweetheart. Consuo Caro!" His wand was aimed at the wizard's lips, and a thin thread appeared from its tip, heading sure and steady in the direction

The thread entered up from the captives bottom lip, spearing up into the top lip, coming out and the repeating the process, bobbing up and down, up and down. The squeals and screams he emitted became muffled as the magic thread pulled sewed his lips tight no matter how much he resisted.

Blood dribbled down his chin, his body jerking in Montague's grip as he tried to break away from him.

Remaining still Montague allowed the household charm time to do its work, making sure his eyes stayed locked with those of his captive. The horror…the look of revulsion…ah…he hadn't seen that look for a while…and Dumbledore couldn't even moan at him about it…what with it being all for a good cause…yeah he'd have fun recounting this one to the Order members. Damn! It was good to be evil!

"Am I still a mudblood, cock sucking, ass kissing pansy with no balls?" he asked conversationally. "What was that, sorry? Couldn't quite hear ya, could you repeat it? No? Well ain't that a damn shame!"

Releasing his grip on his captive's head Montague stood up and stretched, letting the wizard hit the wet ground with a thud resulting in a few droplets of excrement and blood splattering his clothing.

He made a show of looking down at the mess on his robes, and glanced back to wizard that was trying to slither away from him. "Now that's just rude. Guess you didn't learn your lesson the first time round. Wrong move, sweetheart, I'm not a patient teacher."

Stepping back he crafted a torch out of a loose pebble, and lit it, fixing it to the wall so that it cast a fair amount of light on the area in which they were. The flame flickered constantly, playing with the shadows it was trying to disperse.

"Lesson One, we've already had. But let's recap. If you can't say something nice, don't say anything at all." He smirked, reminiscing at old memories. "Hence my sewing your mouth shut. Lesson Two, cleanliness is next to godliness. Now the way things are going at the moment, you're going to be meeting him real soon, so let's give you a good wash before you go, get all that muck out of you. Scourgify!"

Montague's heart was pounding as the magic raced through him; it streamed out of his wand and enveloped the heap before him. The wizard was screaming as best he could from behind his shuttered lips, his body bowed with agony as all the toxins were pushed out of his body through the skin.

After a few minutes the wizard slumped to the ground motionless, silent as the grave, covered in filth and Merlin knew what else.

Shit! He really shouldn't have done that, cursed Montague. Now he had to search the pathetic lump and he had no particular desire to be covered in any of that. "Accio statue." Nothing happened. Looked like he was right then didn't it? "Accio fake statue."

An object rose out of the wizards pocket and drifted over to him. Holding it suspended in mid air Montague studied the statue. "Deletrius!" The fake statue disintegrated into dust, melting into the ground.

A small groan came from the wizard who was still lying face down in the dirt. "Lesson Three, it takes two to lie, one to lie, one to listen. You picked the wrong man, sweetheart. play with fire and you're going to get burnt. In this case, literally. Incendio!" Fire shot out of Montague's wand and started licking at the wizards leg, taking on a life of it's own as it started eating away at the damp robes and flesh.

The wizard rolled over, pushing his exhausted body to new limits as he tried to get away from the flames tormenting him. The fire wouldn't extinguish.

Montague frowned at the display. "Now despite what you're thinking, I'm not a cruel man! I have a heart, a conscience. And I think that you've learnt your lessons well today, good work sweetheart. So I've got a special treat for you. Avada Kedavra."

A green glow coated the body and it fell still, slumping to the ground for the last time, one last breath leaving its lungs. The fire Montague had created continued along with a life of its own.

A flicker of something caught Montague's eye just as he was about to leave, and he approached the body once again, crouching down and focusing on the ring on the wizards hand.

Pulling the ring off he pocketed it, and extinguished the torch, there was no need for it now.

"Lumos." His wand lit up, and Montague turned back the way he had come; just as focused on trying avoid the muck on his new dragon hide boots as he'd been before the encounter with one of Malfoy's men.

He'd known it was a fake. He had the real one at home.

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It was late.

Far later than Montague had anticipated he'd be home.

The black night surrounded his home, casting certain parts of the granite manor into the shadows, the moon streaming down and bouncing off the glittering stonework crafted by accomplished masonries.

The gravel crunched under his feet with each step that he took. A decidedly muggle way of transportation, walking. Especially when there were numerous other options of transportation he could take.

But just because he hadn't been accused of being a Death Eater, didn't mean to say that there weren't witches and wizards who were monitoring his house, waiting for one misstep, one inch that they could take and turn into a mile of guilty evidence. After all it was well known that the Montagues weren't white wizards, such a history that stepped back in time with all ancestors that he had descended from.

And as such, enemies had been made.

Enemies which monitored the use of apparition, of his floo system, of port keys, of broomsticks, of magic carpets and any other form of transportation they could think of.

And for his part, Montague was happy to continue with their little games, annoying it may be to have such surveillance on his own property. But interest was lost after so long without results, and it was also a useful deflection he could use against Voldemort. The risks of being caught far outweighed the benefits of his being alive and well.

Thus the wards set up on his home, it would not do to have witches and wizards, to have Angelina in and out of his home all the time, although eventually it would be seen as odd if she never made an appearance where he lived, but still the least amount of activity the better, and if such magic helped keep her inside, warm and safe and waiting for him it was at the very least an added bonus.

A soft breeze ruffled his hair, and Montague pressed onwards. He was nearly home now.

The entire manor was bathed in darkness, no light shining from any one particular room; it looked exactly the same as any other night he returned home. Empty.

The thought caused his brow to crease, and he quickened his stride pushing the manor door open with out hesitation. Crossing the hall he ignored the house-elf that had risen to meet him and carried on up the marble steps of the staircase straight to his quarters.

Pushing the door open he found it empty, devoid of Angelina. The bed was made, the covers turned down but other than that there was no indication that anyone had sleep there. It looked as it always did when he retired for the evening.

She wouldn't have been able to leave, he'd been sure of that! So where the fucking hell was she?

"Minky!" he bellowed, his voice echoing down the hall. Anger was coursing through his veins, dark and dangerous.

The house-elf appeared with a pop, wringing her fingers in agitation, as the creature bowed down low to him, her nose all but scraping the floor. "Master?"

"Where is she?"

The trembling of the creature intensified and Minky looked to him, her mouth opening and closing uselessly several times before she found the courage to answer.

"In her chambers, master."

"In her chambers…"

Repeating the words in a low growl Montague narrowed his eyes and clenched his jaw. "Why exactly is she in 'her' chambers?"

"Mistress requested…that is to say…she did not find yours to her liking, master."

Montague took a deep breath, feeling a strange calmness washing over his, that prompted his next words, "I see." Taking another deep breath, and letting the air stream passed his lips he asked, "What were my exact instructions to you, when I informed the household of its Mistress arriving, and any requests that she might make?"

"Any reasonable request-"

"Any reasonable fucking request! So why the fucking hell is she not in the master fucking chambers?"

Minky stuttered, unable to form a reply to the furious question her master had just bellowed.

"What the bloody hell is reasonable about the Mistress of this manor sleeping in any bed that does not belong to its master?"

"Mistress said that everything in the manor belongs to the master, so it didn't matter where she sleeps, she'd still be in the master's bed." Her voice high pitched with fear, Minky forced the explanation out into the open.

Montague paused, a smirk tugging unexpectedly at his mouth, it appeared his dark angel still had some fight left in her after all and didn't appear to want him to finish what he'd started earlier.

It was disappointing though that she'd chosen that particular argument with the house-elf and not with him but still…

"Do I occupy the bed she is currently in on a regular basis? No! Therefore she should not be in it! This is your warning, Minky, make such a mistake again and I'll heap you in clothing so fast you'll be out the door and on your own before you realize you're free."

Minky gasped in horror, eyes wide with horror and shiny with tears, shaking she threw herself to the floor at his feet, apologies and pleas bubbling from her mouth almost indistinctive from broken sobs and wails.

Gritting his teeth in annoyance, Montague took a step back the urge to drop-kick her out the room growing all the stronger.

"Get out!"

Before the house-elf could obey her master's orders, Montague himself was striding out the room and down the corridor towards the mistress' official chambers. The area had been put in many years ago, and included a separate bedroom, bathroom, study and parlor which, depending on the relationship between that of the master and his wife, either was regularly occupied or deserted. It was needless to mention that his mother had spent the majority of her time cloistered away in the rooms, showing her face only at meal times and on social occasions where her absence would have been noted and remarked upon. No matter what went on behind closed doors and fireplaces, Montagues always promoted a united front.

Wizarding society was too cut-throat to do anything less. One whiff of weakness and the ton could and would tear you and anything related to you apart, and smile while they did it.

But then, what true pureblood wizard wouldn't do it?

Power was everything. Without it you were worthless. Nothing. And no Montague worth his magic was worthless.

The sound of his footsteps would have been muffled on the thick Turkish carpet beneath his feet had he not mastered the art of moving silently when he was still in his childhood. He had no need of spells to accomplish such a task. A simple one admittedly, but he'd caught many out in the past of such common place mistakes.

Pushing the door open silently he had enough self control to stop himself from throwing the door open and allowing it to slam against the wall with enough force to startle the witch in bed awake.

With a patience he never knew he possessed, Montague continued further on into the feminine quarters at a slower pace.

He'd have never known a witch that could make so mad one minute also drove him to slaughter anything in his path and calm him within seconds so that he wanted to do nothing more than revel in her touch and her attention.

Merlin, he was turning into a damn Hufflepuff pussy.

He'd never had a particular liking of these rooms, they reminded him too much of the woman that had borne him, but had done little more than that. His grandmother has never used the rooms, finding them useless, and too far out of the way from the rest of the house.

Even now, years after his mother's death, remains of her still remained. And her preference of lace doilies, floral curtains and soft upholstery.

Everything was still, all was quiet. Nothing to suggest she was even curled up asleep on the large bed that was far too ornate for his simple Spartan tastes. Just because he liked nice things and could afford them didn't mean that he had to clutter his home with useless and impractical items.

The drawing rooms, ballroom and formal dining room were the only rooms in his home filled with items that had more to do with status than anything else. They were the only rooms ever on show. Anyone who trespassed away from the delegated areas wouldn't live long enough to tell another soul of what they had seen.

Pausing before that bedroom door, Montague took a deep breath, steadying himself for whatever lay behind the door. Montague didn't know if the anger if she wasn't really there and had fooled the pathetic excuse for a house-elf that he owned or the desire that would wrack his body when he laid his eyes upon her form sound asleep would take over his emotion.

Though the fact she was asleep in his mother's bedchambers would help stifle that raging desire, had she been in his bed sound asleep and waiting for him, even if she wasn't really 'waiting' for him, he'd have been all over her, could have guaranteed that neither one of them would have gotten any sleep that night.

But it was better, perhaps, that she didn't quite know just what she did to him.

He pushed the door open but didn't pass the threshold.

He had no desire to enter that room, not even for the witch laying asleep inside.

How ironic, the bed in which he'd murdered his mother was now occupied by the one witch who might come to the same end if he did not keep his wits about him.

Even now he could picture his mother still body glowing with the remnants of the Avada Kedarva.

He did not regret the choice, though in truth he'd had none. It was still not a particularly pleasant memory.

It was not the first murder the walls of his ancestral home had solely been witness to and no doubt it would not be the last.

Angelina lay asleep on her front, her arms wrapped around a fluffy pillow while her long legs were tangled in cotton sheets she'd kicked off.

It seemed he'd been hasty in predicting a change in their relationship.

"You picked well, Alexander."

He closed the door, and stepped back into the middle of the room.

"Grandmother." A brief nod of greeting followed.

Athalie said nothing, but looked at him hard, her eyes seeing everything. A rueful smile lit up her face, softening the youthful lines so that she did not look quite so old. "You look just like your grandfather, Alexander, and you act like him too. Push, push, push! Sometimes it is better to let things lie before kicking up all the dust again," Athalie told him. She sighed, knowing that he wouldn't listen to the advice anymore than Tristan would have.

"You told her."

"Well someone had to!" Athalie retorted. "You couldn't have kept her in the dark forever! Better that she heard it from me now, rather than let it go until you built up the courage, or the sense to tell her months, or even years later!"

"She was better off not knowing."

"How?" she snapped. "How is she better off not knowing? How is she better off in ignorance?"

"Have you never heard the saying 'ignorance is bliss?' You cannot speak of that which you do not know!"

"You endanger her life by not telling her!"

"No, I do not. You have told her things that she cannot understand, I kept the history of our Mark and necklace from her because she was not ready to understand. She is not accepting of me, of our relationship. Until she understands what we have, she cannot accept our family history and the consequences of it."

Athalie sneered at him in disgust. "What relationship, Grandson? You are blackmailing her! She is not here out of choice; she is her out of force. She sleeps in your bed, takes you into her body because of what will happen if she does not. She truly believes that you would kill her entire family if she refused you. She does not come to you out of desire, she comes to you out of fear, and fear for her family holds her next to you. You have nothing of value to offer her, you have nothing she wants. Until she stays out of choice she will never be yours."

The words froze him to the marrow. Athalie spoke the truth.

"She is mine. She will stay mine until my dying breath. I do not care why she comes, why she stays so long as she is here. You will not interfere between us again. I am master of this house, and my will shall be obeyed."

"One day you will admit to caring why she stays, and it will be the bleakest day in your life."

"Crap," Montague snarled at her.

Without another look he quit the room, closing the door softly.

Athalie snorted at his attempt to show her that he was not in the murderous rage she knew he was in.

"Liar," she said calmly to the empty room. "He is same as every other Montague. They only ever retreat from the truth."

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A/N: I know there wasn't any interaction between Angelina and Montague in this chapter, but I can assure you, there is plenty of it in the next!


	23. Chapter 21

A/N: Hello to all my readers and a Happy New Year.

A huge thank you to Nocturngirl for all her help as Beta for this chapter. She has been fabulous!! And you'll be thrilled to know she's already hounding me for the next chapter! Another thank you to Gemma and Polaris who have been great as well, so thank you for all your help and advice.

New Years Resolution: Finish Mark of Montague!! The end is in sight!

Apologies for accidentally leaving in a few comments from my beta! Thank you to all those that mentioned it, and thank you to all those that took the time to review. It's always good to know that your enjoying it! Hopefully I haven't left in any this time! lol!

Just as a warning, there is some sensitive subject matter in this chapter. I can't say too much without spoiling the chapter, but the conversation in question takes place in the bathroom. If you start to read it and don't feel comfortable with the subject, please scroll down and skip it.

I realise it is a sensitive subject and I don't mean to offend anyone - so you have been warned.

Anyway, other than that I hope you enjoy it! I can't wait to hear what you think!

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Angelina sighed and crossed away from the window to slump into one of the chairs by the fire.

The entire day it had done nothing but rain. The sky was dark, heavy with rain clouds that burst while passing over the manor helping to keep her encased within the stone walls with greater efficiency than magic.

Rain had always had that effect on her. Even as a child when it rained she felt lethargic, washed out, wanting to do little more than curl up in a chair or in bed and watch the water droplets run down the windowpanes.

Nevertheless, she had been staring out of the window for the past two days now watching the rain, and was bored of looking out the windows.

The library was full of books. Books she did not intend to read however. They were all factual reference books, some first editions but they all centred around one thing. Magic. Black magic. Nothing she had any interest in reading.

Athalie had explained all she needed to know about her situation.

Still, she would have thought Montague had something remotely readable and interesting.

It had been two days since she had arrived at the manor. It was the third day now and she'd seen neither hide nor hair of him, or anyone else for that matter. Moreover, she was frankly was sick to death of having no one but house elves and Athalie for company. Montague's grandmother was nice enough, but she had been rather evasive and tight-lipped the last few days.

Things were not going as she'd thought.

Anger and resentment had influenced her into asking for the mistresses' quarters, and maybe she was being a little self-conceited, but she'd honestly thought that Montague would have come storming into her room in a mood similar to that of a scorned lover.

He hadn't.

And, as a result of her actions for the past two days, she'd enjoyed all her meals alone, an entire bed to herself and solitude.

It didn't escape her attention that had Montague been there she'd have acted like a spoilt brat and refused to eat meals with him, share the same bed or spend any time with him. However, she would have had some human company, even if it were while they argued.

The result of her actions left her feeling somewhat disconcerted. Just when she thought she had Montague figured out he went and changed the game plan.

-----------------------------

While Angelina was busy hiding away in her quarters, Montague had been working.

He had made another couple of reports to the Order of Phoenix, but it was obvious to him that the situation was deteriorating rapidly.

They'd largely ignored his warnings that the known and suspected order members were being followed. Dumbledore and his top aurors claimed that they had been aware of the situation for some time and that they were currently monitoring it, but other than a brief reassurance, they'd brushed off the piece of intelligence he'd supplied.

Business matters had also taken up a large portion of his time, having been rather wrapped up in his entanglement with Angelina he'd spent less time than usual on his investments and businesses. He had admittedly been at the manor while he was conducting his business, but he had shut himself away in one of the top towers and had given instructions that he was not to be disturbed unless Angelina asked for him.

She hadn't.

So far Angelina had sulked and searched all of the available rooms she'd found, but she had been unsuccessful in her quest to discover his hiding place.

In fact, he was certain that she had deliberately avoided it. She'd merely assuaged her guilt by her pretend search so she could fool herself into feeling better and pass the buck onto him.

Therefore, any remaining time he'd spent at court, ferreting out any worthy information that he could pass on and trying to trace the whereabouts of Warrington.

His enquiries had not been particularly productive; unfortunately, a locating charm was out of the question due a talisman that Warrington had similar to his own that prevented his location being revealed.

It was his own fault though, for loosing his temper and a lesson to him not for it to happen again.

Despite his best effort though, he couldn't completely distract his thoughts from Angelina.

Maybe it hadn't been the best thing to do; in the future, he'd make a mental note not to wind Angelina up, and then leave her alone to dwell upon it.

He was not a particularly diplomatic wizard.

His temper was on a short fuse at the moment, and that damn witch in his house wasn't helping things!

Was it too much to ask that things go his way just once?

This time though he wasn't running after her, he'd done it enough recently and she was starting to take it for granted that where she went he followed, and when she deliberately provoked him, he would lose his temper.

She was one of the few people that could make him lose control of the cool calm he possessed when it came to anyone else.

Even Weasley could not make his temper run as hot as Angelina could.

The fact that she was deliberately avoiding him was galling. Even after everything that had happened at Court and the way she had sought comfort from him, she still turned away from him.

After all, if she really wanted to find him, to see him, to speak to him she knew exactly where she would find him.

But even after her expansive search of his home, there was still one area that she hadn't yet ventured. And she wouldn't find him until she did.

-----------------------

Angelina glanced at the clock on the mantle. It wasn't even ten o'clock in the evening and she was already dressed for bed because it had given her something to do.

She'd eaten dinner alone and it had been a solemn affair.

No one had called at the house; it was deadly silent in a disturbing way. Not even the portraits were inclined to disturb the sober atmosphere that had invaded the manor.

Not that she could ever have imagined the manor as a particularly happy place.

It would be nice as a family home, the rooms were big, with many hiding places, and spots that would appeal to children playing hide and seek, and making forts. Large gardens that would be perfect for afternoon picnics and Quidditch games.

The structure of the manor was beautiful as well, but overall the house was cold, and it was just that. A house, not a home.

It was no wonder that Montague had grown up as he had in such a place.

He obviously hadn't had a happy childhood here, and if he'd murdered his mother within these walls, it was unlikely that he had fond memories of the house as an adult.

Even now, she couldn't believe that Montague had killed his mother, oh, she certainly believed that he had the ability and resolve to do it, but it was difficult for her to imagine anyone wanting to kill their mother so badly that they'd actually gone and done it.

Sure, you read such stories in the newspapers and magazines, but in real life, how many people do you actually know that have been through something like that?

She wondered where the murder could have taken place. Immediately Angelina's imagination began to conjure of scenes of the murder.

Had she been drowned in the pond outside in the courtyard?

Beaten to death in the front parlour?

Cursed with the unforgivable of all unforgivable, Avada Kedvra in the dungeons?

Maybe she'd been strangled in the conservatory?

Perhaps she'd been suffocated with a pillow in her bedroom.

The last thought whizzing through her head brought her to a standstill.

Was that why Montague had never sought her out? Because she was occupying his mothers rooms? The rooms where he'd murdered her?

Was it guilt that kept him away? Or something else?

What had actually happened?

Athalie would give her no information on the subject, despite her loose tongue when it came to the Tattoo and Necklace.

Although she had not come out and actually said it, Angelina had the feeling that Montague wasn't too pleased with his Grandmother over the details of their discussion and in the process of laying down the law, had forbidden Athalie from saying anything else to her.

She had little doubt that Montague would show no hesitation in putting his Grandmother in her place should he deem it necessary.

Flopping down onto the bed, she rolled over onto her back and stared at the ceiling feeling utterly bored and fed up.

There was only one place in the entire house that she had not yet dared to check.

She'd searched in all the nooks and crannies of the house; patrolled through the gardens and along the balconies and she'd still be unsuccessful in her search of him.

The thought had occurred to her on day one, but stubborn resolve had encouraged her to hold out which was what she'd down done.

And, she told herself, if it weren't for Josh's birthday, she'd hold out far longer than she actually was.

Since Montague was not chasing after her, which maybe was a good sign that he was losing interest, then she would go to him and ensure that she turned up at the party. She's made a promise to her nephew that she'd be there, and nothing, not even her pride in asking Montague to let her go was going to prevent that.

With a growl of frustration, she rolled off out the bed, her feet landing softly on the carpeted floor. Picking up a shawl that had been folded up over the back of a chair, Angelina wrapped it around herself.

The shawl, and the nightgown itself wasn't something she'd have picked out given a choice, but she hadn't been so she'd have to make do with the Victorian style nightgown and woollen shawl until she was back home and wearing her own pyjamas.

She padded out of her room and down the hallway.

Heading into quarters that she had not yet entered.

She'd been deliberately avoiding them, but she knew it was not possible any longer. Evidently, if she wanted to see Montague she'd have to go in search of him.

With trepidation, she raised her hand and knocked on the dark wooden door.

She waited with baited breathe for an answer but she received none.

Wondering if Montague was simply testing her, Angelina knocked at the door again with more force.

When no response came, she gathered her courage and pushed the door open.

The room appeared deserted, as she crossed the threshold the candles flared to life illuminating the room confirming her suspicions.

Large windows ran along the opposite side of the room, from the top of the wall, right down to floor. Against the right wall of the room stood one of the most impressive beds that she had ever seen. It was a massive, old-fashioned four-poster bed carved out of maple wood sitting on a raised platform.

Cream covered curtains were tied back to each of the posts, the mattress covered by matching coloured sheets and littered with pillows and cushions in silks, satins and velvets of various shades. It was unlike anything she had ever seen before.

An elegant chest of drawers and wardrobe in the same wood were positioned on the wall opposite the windows, while on the left there was a fireplace with two brown leather seats placed in front of it facing the fire, a small wooden side table placed between the pair of seats with a clock on it.

There was also an old-fashioned dressing table and chair, a comb and brush left out on the table along with a large jewellery box. Well, she assumed it was a jewellery box, but she might be wrong. Who knew what kind of things Montague kept in his house.

To either side of the bed there was a door way concealed in the panelling that ran along that one wall.

Curiosity prodded her into stepping into the room and heading across to the closest door. The glanced over her shoulder, and then pushed open the door to enter into one of the most luxurious bathrooms she had ever seen.

It contained an enormous bath, and oddly enough another smaller one not much bigger than the one in her apartment. Multiple gold taps were labelled with different scents that the bather could use. A little way from the baths stood a shower, again, it was large, although taking into consideration the size of the first bath she was surprised that the shower wasn't larger.

Why the bath and shower should be quite as small as they were, especially when Montague made no bones about his preference for luxury she had not idea. She did not doubt for an instant though, that Montague had his reasons.

On the counter by the sink, two toothbrushes sat in holders. Matching sinks had been sunk into the counter, with a wide mirror running along the length of the white marble. Against one wall was a tall shelving unit filled with different products.

She stepped forward to survey them, her brow creasing as she took in the familiar names that she was sure Montague had not heard of. If she was not mistaken, they were products she owned and then several more of the expensive variety that she could not justify buying except on special occasions.

In one corner of the room, an enormous potted palm gave the room a splash of bright colour.

The room was full of light, but Angelina frowned not seeing any windows.

Her eyes flickered upwards and she froze in astonishment. The entire ceiling was made of glass, allowing one to look up at the sky as they bathed or soaked in the bath.

Angelina stood still for a moment, looking around herself in amazement. You saw things rooms like this in magazines when they did lay outs of celebrity homes. It was impossible to believe that she was standing in such a place.

Merlin knew that she despised Montague, but the man had good taste.

Slipping out of the room and back into the master bedroom, Angelina noted that the fireplace had been lit and the bed covers pulled back ready. Obviously, the house-elves knew something she didn't.

Walking around the bed, and making her way through the second door, once again Angelina stopped in stunned disbelief.

The room was filled with clothes. They dominated the room.

There were rails around part of the room, and from them hung an assortment of wizarding wear, designed for both witches and wizards in numerous shades, styles, and materials.

On other rails hung sets of matching bras and knickers, delicately embroidered and expensive. On another rail hung nightgowns and various wraps and dressing gowns.

Who on earth did all those clothes belong too?

They certainly didn't belong to her.

Dragging her eyes away from the designer clothing, she shuffled back into the main bedroom.

Montague still wasn't home.

Looking at the clock on the small side table, Angelina saw that it was already 11:35 and despite the fact she had spent the day doing very little, but she'd been up early that morning at the crack of dawn.

Deciding that she didn't have the energy to stay awake while she was waiting on Montague, Angelina stepped up on the platform and slid into the bed. She didn't doubt that as soon as Montague slid into bed to join her she would wake up and be able to confront him them.

Who knew, it might put him on a better mood and encourage him to allow her to leave so that she could go shopping for Josh's birthday and get back to her life.

With that last thought, her head hit the pillow and she drifted off to sleep.

----------------------

Pushing open the door into his room, Montague headed straight into the bathroom and began to strip himself of the robes on his body and his shoes.

He'd spent far more time in them than he would have liked after he finished exploring the underground tunnels and caves.

He'd been obliged to immediately report his findings to Lucius Malfoy, and had been obliged to spend the afternoon there. He'd also been invited for dinner, and knowing nothing better was awaiting him at home he'd agreed and used the time to press the elder Malfoy for any new information that the order would be able to make use of.

Although he'd cleaned his clothes and freshened himself up with several spells, before arriving at the Malfoy Estate he was still convinced that he smelt of underground sewers and caves.

Flicking on the shower, he placed his wand on the counter and stepped beneath the hot spray of water.

He wasted no time in slathering his body with soap, and his hair with shampoo. When he was finally satisfied that he was clean, he stood there a little longer before getting out and towelling himself dry.

He carelessly dropped his towel to the floor to join his clothes confident that the house-elves would pick it up after him.

Not bothering to don any clothing, he headed for his bed.

And came to an abrupt stop.

Angelina.

In his bed.

Montague blinked, wondering if he was imagining it. He certainly wanted to see it badly enough that he was mistaking the sight before him. His body responded instantly, but Montague ignored his erection, knowing now was not the time to indulge.

For one thing, she wasn't real.

But then she gave a sigh and rolled over. Away from him. And she was wearing a nightgown.

It was then he knew he was not imagining it. Because in his imaginations, when she was waiting for him in bed so rolled towards him and drowsily woke up at his presence to check that he was home safe and unharmed. And then she would wait for him to join her in bed before falling back to sleep cuddled up with him. And she definitely wouldn't be wearing a nightgown. She wouldn't be wearing anything.

He could allow her one of his shirts, he supposed. If it was cold.

Frowning, Montague quickly abandoned that train of thought. He wouldn't allow it to get cold enough in his home for her to require his shirt.

It brought him some relief, knowing that she had eventually given in and come in search of him where she knew he would be. Even if it was because her nephew's birthday was in a few days.

It was a bitter tasting thought, but Montague could not ignore the truth.

His mind made up, Montague picked his wand up and walked across the room to the fireplace.

Running his hands across the mantelpiece, he closed his eyes and concentrated, searching for the knot.

The knot found, he brought his wand down on top for it. "Alexander Tristan Montague." He spoke, and a shaft of magic left his wand and worked its way into the wood. He waited, knowing that it would take a moment for his magic to be identified. The mantelpiece was made of a special wood, which had long been extinct. By tapping his wand against it and speaking his name, the wood knew whether or not he was the existing head of the family and could therefore access the vault hidden beyond. It was thief proof, only Montague's active magical signature could let him pass and no one was able to copy that. They might steal his wand, but it was their magic the wand channelled, not his own.

It was just as well his mother had never been able to get into the vault; he had little doubt that she would have pawned off everything that was in it without a second thought. She'd nearly brought the family to ruin, and had very nearly succeeded.

Not many people knew, in actual fact, no one knew that the family estates had been mortgaged to the hilt. The reserves of the coiffeurs had been drained dry, the credit with all stores used up and yet still his mother had continued to spend money and gamble.

His father had been a fool and unable to control his wife, although it didn't seem to bother him at all. He too was far more interested in being able to have what he wanted when he wanted it, and the number of witches he'd been able to bed due to the Montague name.

He had no doubt that if his Grandfather had ever confided to his son and wife of the vault and the treasures within it, there would have been nothing left for himself.

Inheriting the crumbling estates and the debt his parents had left behind, Montague had been well aware that it would have been easy to sell off some of the priceless antiques and family heirlooms, but he had been unable to even consider the idea. It was unsupportable!

Instead, as he raised the family investments, he began to add to the collection, waiting for the days to come where he would find a witch worthy of them.

The fire in the fireplace puffed out, drawing Montague away from his heavy musings.

He walked directly into it, and then carried on straight through the wall, a mere glamour to convince anyone who happened to peer in that the wall was still indeed a wall.

Set out much like a jewellers, the vault had also housed a number of expensive paintings that his grandfather had stored down here as well to keep out of his sons greedy reach, along with other precious items. The vault itself would expand to fit whatever was housed inside it.

Once he'd known his financial struggle was at an end, Montague had immediately returned them to their rightful places throughout his home.

Heading to the far case, he pulled out his Grandmothers eternity ring and twisted it about this way and that.

Satisfied that it would do, he left the vault, not bothering to pay any attention to the other trinkets within.

As soon as he slipped out of the fireplace, the fire roared back to life, and the stonewall solidified.

Crossing back over to the bed, Montague banished the ugly nightgown that Angelina was wearing before placing his wand on the bedside table.

Reaching across Angelina, he slid the eternity ring onto her wedding finger on her left hand. For a moment he sat there, savouring the sight of the ring on her finger, acknowledging the fact that there ought to be a wedding ring and engagement ring to accompany it.

All in good time, he told himself. She'd accepted the tattoo and necklace because of the potion he'd slipped in her wine to make her more pliable and subconsciously agreeable to his suggestions, otherwise he had no doubt that he'd have had a harder time getting her to agree to either.

In fact, he knew, he wouldn't have had a harder time. He'd have had an impossible time. Even if she'd done it because he'd threatened her family, if at some level she was resistant to the idea, the binding would not have taken place.

He'd used the same potion on Angelina as his ancestor Henry had done on his wife Esme.

"Don't make the mistake of thinking that I will be forever chasing after you Angelina." He threatened. But even as he spoke the words to her sleeping form, he knew they were false words. He would chase her to the ends of the earth and beyond if that was what it took.

She continued to sleep on peacefully, not aware of the danger he presented now that she was asleep in his bed. Waiting for him.

His body craved relief, but he didn't imagine that she would like being woken at this time of night to sate his carnal lusts and appetite.

She might be in his bed, but she wasn't that kindly disposed to him.

Suddenly angry with Angelina and then himself, Montague dropped her hand and rolled over to his side, deliberately turning his back to her and stared angrily at the wall.

Angelina mumbled something in her sleep, and presumably stretched out. He didn't turn his head to look, but that was what the rustling of the bed sheets lead him to believe.

A second later and he felt her bare breast pressed against his back, a shudder running though his body at the contact. He could feel the soft puff of her breathing against the base of his neck, and then an arm slipped about his waist and rose up rest against the side of his chest. And then, last of all a smooth leg hooked carelessly over his thigh.

From the rhythmic sound of her breathing, Montague deduced that she had not woken up.

Sighing in bliss at the feel of her body pressed against his own, Montague closed his eyes and savoured the feeling.

Not only had she searched him out and fallen asleep in his bed, but she also searched him out when asleep. She'd done it instinctively.

He willed away the reaction of his body, but couldn't get rid of it. In the end, he dulled its urges to a quiet rage so that he would be able to get some sleep. In the morning, he promised himself. In the morning once he'd gotten some rest.

Sighing he covered Angelina's hand with his own and linked their fingers together on his chest.

Tomorrow, he promised himself. Tomorrow.

----------------------

Waking up the following morning, the first sensation that Angelina noticed that the warmth along the front of her body.

Cautiously opening her eyes, she took stock of the situation.

Evidently, Montague had arrived home at some time late last night, and was now fast asleep beneath her.

Lifting her head from where it had been resting on his shoulder, she studied his face and made note of the lines on his face, the dark smudges under his eyes.

It was clear to see that he had been under stress since she'd last seen him. Maybe, she thought, it had not just been her own sense of disquiet that she had been feeling, but his as well.

It tugged at something within her, but she quickly pushed the emotion aside.

She had little doubt that whatever stressful situations Montague had been in for the past couple of days, it was with the aim of furthering Voldemort's goals. He wouldn't have been fighting with the Order, or for the right thing.

She shouldn't want to ease his worries, or wipe the frown lines from his face.

It was then that she became aware that she was sprawled out over him. Her thigh hooked over his leg, her fingers linked with his as her hand rested over his heart.

What an earth had she been thinking?

His arm held her tight to him, his hand resting in the small of her back.

Angelina glanced around the room, looking for the clock she'd been sure she'd spotted the previous evening when she'd had time to look about his rooms.

The time was coming up to nine o'clock, but the wizard beside her didn't appear to be waking any time soon.

Deciding that her ploy might have a better chance of success if Montague was well rested and well fed, Angelina made up her mind to get up and deal with him later.

Drawing away from him, she was unsurprised that his grip tightened on her.

"Sshh." He said groggily, his voice heavy with sleep. "Sshh. Go back to sleep Angel." He told her without opening his eyes.

"But…"

"Sshh." He replied soothingly. He rolled over onto his side so that he was facing her and pulled her closer.

Seconds later his body settled back down again.

Or at least most of it did. Angelina could feel his morning erection poking her thigh.

She held her breath, wondering what was going to happen next.

She'd not woken up to this man before, and the time at his death eater quarters didn't count.

Previously he'd been up and about long before she'd woken, tired out by his demands the night before. The first few months he'd spent with her he'd been unceasing in his desire, pushing her as close to her limits as possible.

After that he'd become a little less demanding, although no less attentive. There was still the occasional evening though when it had been all she could do to keep up with him. She had no idea what set off these occasions, as far as she could tell it was not linked to Voldemort as at all, but he'd arrived worked up over something.

When he came to her then it was almost as if he was reiterating that she was with him, that he was able to have what he wanted of her. Those were the times when he was the most aggressive in bed, his language possessive and crude, the words 'fuck' and 'mine' being the most frequently used. It was no drawn out affair in which they experimented with new sensations, but fast, deep, and hard as he took her body in the most basic of positions.

But not matter what his desire, he never allowed her to be left behind or go unsatisfied.

Despite everything else between them, Angelina acknowledged that Montague was a talented and attentive lover.

A fact her body well recognised by the ache building between her legs.

Angelina lifted her hand to his thigh, and slowly brushed her fingers back and forth across the hair-roughened skin. Gently she grazed her nails along his upper leg, and up over his hip.

Groaning Montague captured her hand a brought it up to his mouth. He pressed a kiss against her knuckles and then held it against his chest.

Staring at him in stunned silence, Angelina was mystified. It was only the second time she'd ever made an advance against him, usually even an accidental brush against him and she wasn't able to keep him off her.

Closing her eyes against an onslaught of emotions that she didn't particularly want to deal with, it was then that Montague chose to move. His head settled above hers, her face tucked against his throat.

Obviously, there was far more going on with him than she was aware of.

It was just a shame that he was a death eater.

Drifting off to sleep, the scent of him wrapped around her, Angelina resolved to bring up her trip to Diagon Alley as soon as he woke up.

----------------------

Diagon Alley was as busy as always.

It had been years since she'd last been here. Anything that she needed, ingredients, birthday and Christmas presents of the magical variety for Josh she'd ordered through the mail. The funds had been debited straight from her Gringotts account and the items had been dispatched and received by herself within a few days.

Clusters of witches and wizards stood in front of the window displays gazing at the latest fashions and inventions. Red-faced mothers pulled their children along behind them hoping to get past the sweet shops without a fight.

Young witches sat on the tables situated outside various restaurants watching wizards walking past, smiling and giggling as they did so.

It was hard to believe that she'd once been the same age as them that she'd once sat there, giggling and whispering with friends about everything and nothing at all. How many hours had past in such a manner, she had no idea.

It was hard to believe that there was a war going on, nothing seemed to have changed at all. People were still doing exactly the same things they'd always done. But upon looking a little closer, it was easy to see the protection amulets and wands within easy reach.

The magazines and papers, while still reporting on famous Quidditch stars, models and bands were also peppered with stories titled, 'Kidnapped by Death Eaters - Dolly MacBall Tells All in Her First Exclusive Interview' and 'Starved, Beaten and Raped - How I Survived by Lucy Vesci.'

Those weren't the only stories;, there were hundreds more. Each of them was just as devastating as the next.

She was brought out of her musings as Montague brought them to a stop. His arm was wrapped tightly around her waist, tucking her in close to his side as they walked along, legs brushing each time they took a step.

Despite the position, she made no move to respond in kind and wrap her arm around his side.

She was surprised that when they stopped, it wasn't to speak with a group of wizards their age, or even slightly older. She didn't recognise any of them in particular, or rather, that was to say that she didn't recognise any of them as suspected death eaters.

Some had snowy white hair, others, she had no doubt, had long ago turned bald. They were dressed in a sombre fashion, dark robes with starched white shirts underneath.

They were of an older generation; that much was obvious. But who they were, and what they did she had no idea.

"Gentlemen." Montague greeted them with a nod, a small smile.

The smile surprised her. She only ever seen him greet her like that, and even then it was rare.

The wizards smiled back at the pair of them, one commenting, "Well, I can see what has put you into such a good mood today, young Montague." A smile showed that the words were meant in a genuine jest, and Montague let the comment go without batting an eyelid. He didn't even take offence at words 'young Montague.'

"Gentlemen, allow me to introduce Miss Johnson to your acquaintance." Montague said, "Angelina, these are several of my business associates, Bennett, Thornton, Harper, Price, and Sharpe." Each of the wizards gave a small nod of their head to distinguish himself from his companions.

The words 'business associates' made her heart pound a little faster, even though their names were unknown to her, the fact that they regularly did business with Montague, and referred to him as 'young Montague' while teasing him about her spoke of a long time familiarity.

It was hard to imagine any of the kindly looking wizards in front of her being death eaters, but just because they didn't look like criminals didn't mean anything.

Montague's hand tensed on the waist as if he could read the thoughts running through his her head.

"It's a pleasure to meet you, forgive me if I get your names muddled up." Angelina told them with a smile.

Immediately Montague relaxed along side her, his thumb brushing her hip before falling still once again.

Before long the wizards in front of her appeared to have forgotten her completely as they fell into conversation beyond her understanding of stocks and shares, and the percentage rate of which they had been growing by.

"Vice breed's money," Montague told the wizards who were exclaiming over his fortune at an investment that was doing unexpectedly well, despite criticism that had been voiced when the project had been launched.

She noticed Alicia Spinnet standing with Katie Bell to her right; she hadn't seen either of them since the evening at the ministry ball.

Glancing away from the pair of witches, Angelina couldn't help but look back a second later to see if they were still watching her.

They were.

Seeing that they were about to make a move over to them, Angelina pulled away from Montague, passing him an affectionate smile in keeping with their charade. "Please excuse me Gentlemen," she said smoothly, "I believe that I have spotted some friends of mine that are trying to catch my attention."

A chorus of agreement rang out, but before she could slip away completely, Montague caught her hand, and pressed a kiss to it before releasing her.

Angelina's heart sped up at the familiar, somewhat thoughtless action.

Familiar because he was so casual in doing so.

Thoughtless because it was so small a thing.

It was not an attention seeking public display similar to that at the Ministry Ball in front of Fred, but a more intimate sign of affection, an action that was reserved enough so that he could do it in front of his business associates without offending their old world ways.

The kiss, despite being subtle though, had certainly been noticed by two witches she'd once referred to as her best friends.

Some friends they'd been though. They had known full well that Fred had been cheating on her and had said nothing. They'd even come to her after she'd found out, pleading with her to forgive them because they'd not mentioned it sooner out of fear of hurting her.

Their betrayal had only enhanced the pain and humiliation she'd felt.

They'd let her go on blindly, planning their wedding, alternately complaining when Fred was acting distant, and praising him when he'd done something thoughtful and special for her. Something that had been done out of guilt.

Would it have hurt if her friends had confessed what they knew?

Yes, of course it would have.

Would she have been angry?

Most definitely.

But at least she wouldn't have felt betrayed not only by her fiancé, but and by her best friends since her 1st year at Hogwarts.

Crossing the cobbled road, she made her way over to them. With steely resolve, Angelina kept her back straight, her head high and a serene expression on her face. Maintaining a strong and purposeful stride, it didn't take her long to reach them.

Katie had cut her hair, which was one of the more significant changes. It no longer fell straight down her back in a glossy wave, but curled about her shoulders. She was wearing the same clothes that she always did, blue jeans, a t-shirt and trainers. She'd also discovered the art of makeup.

Alicia was dressed similarly, although she wore dark boots and a purple vest top. A bag was slung over her shoulder; her fingers were wrapped around its handle, knuckles turning white where she gripped it so tightly.

She wondered what changes they'd see in her. Or would they be blind to all of those except the fact she sleep with a death eater now?

Coming to a halt before them, an awkward silence passed between them as each of the witches tried in vain to some up with an adequate greeting.

"Hi." Katie all but whispered as if she was scared that Angelina would run off if she spoke too loud.

"Katie. Alicia. You both look well." Angelina mentally winced at the greeting, but what else had she to say to them?

"You too. Although you'd look better without that bastard hanging all over you." Alicia hissed at her, anger burning in her eyes.

Angelina gave a soft snort. "Why am I not surprised?" She asked. "Would you prefer that I'd forgiven Fred and gone back to being a doormat?"

"Fred was a decent bloke Angelina," Alicia protested.

Crossing her arms over her stomach, Angelina replied, "So is Montague." She felt stupid saying the words, she wondered if Katie and Alicia could hear her mind screaming, 'Liar! Liar!'

Alicia's next words evidently showed that they had not.

"He's a bloody Death Eater."

"Alicia-" Katie said, trying to shut up the witch she was with.

"Don't Alicia me Katie! I'm just saying something we all know! He is a Death Eater!"

"Suspected, but not convicted." Countered Angelina calmly.

Mentally she paused, was she channelling Montague? Never before had she felt so cool and collected when it had come to an argument.

Or maybe she just was not bothered.

"What Alicia is trying to say, is that we don't want to see you getting mixed up with him Angelina. He's bad news, always has been, even back at Hogwarts. We don't want you to get hurt."

"Thanks for the concern, but I could have done with its several years ago when Fred was fucking around behind my back. But don't worry; my eyes are wide open when it comes to dealing with Montague."

Alicia took a deep breath. "Angie, you can't be serious about him, surely?"

"Look, if you're in some sort of trouble with him, just tell us and we'll do our best to help." Katie told Angelina.

"Thanks, but I don't need your help. He brings me breakfast in bed; he takes me shopping to help pick out a gift for my nephew's birthday, but most of all he wants me. He doesn't lie to me." Angelina snarled, twisting the knife deeper with her next words.

"Alexander won't let anyone get away with hurting me, you see, that wizard over there would kill for me. And with the way things are at the moment, I find those qualities far more attractive than a supposedly 'decent bloke' who was all too happy to screw me over, and friends who despite being Gryffindor's, were too cowardly to tell me the truth.

So don't stand there and lecture me. I am not the same witch you knew. I will never be that witch again. I know exactly what I need, and I know exactly what I am doing. You were once all too happy to stay of my business, so make sure you do the same thing now."

Glancing over her shoulder, Angelina could see Montague's group beginning to break up, the wizards shaking hands with parting smiles.

Her 'friends' were silent. Their eyes showing the inner turmoil she'd inflicted with her words.

"I don't need you to look out for me any longer, I just need you to leave me alone and get on with my life without any comments, or judgements from people that have no idea what they are talking about." With those parting words, Angelina turned and made her way back to Montague who was now standing on his own waiting for her.

Normally he would have met her halfway, she knew that instinctively. She understood though why he made no move to do so this time though. With her friends watching, he wanted to show them that she went willingly to him.

Walking up to him, Angelina allowed herself to rest her body against his own as she reached up for a kiss.

Without any hesitation, Montague slid his tongue into her mouth, pulling her closer as he wrapped her arms around her waist. The kiss was gentle, soft and sweet, a complete atheist to the body she was pressed against.

All too soon he pulled away, and Angelina gave a small moan of protest, her reward another quick peck on the lips. Montague smirked down at her, releasing his hold on her with one of his arms, he brought his hand up, his finger wiping away the smudged lip-gloss just below her lower lip.

Rolling her eyes at him in a playful gesture at the satisfactory glint in his eye, she returned the favour, the prickle of his stubble catching on her fingertips.

Montague brought his arm up around her shoulders, and started to direct them down the street.

With a deep breath, Angelina leaned into his side, curling her own arm around his waist.

"So, where are we off to now?" He asked.

"I was thinking of Grimshaws." Angelina told him casually, "and then on to the Magical Toy's Emporium. Other than that I have no idea."

In a relaxed manner, as if they had all the time in the world, Montague and Angelina strolled off towards their destination.

But even when they had turned the corner, and were out of sight from Alicia and Katie, Angelina could still feel the weight of their stares boring into her.

----------------------

Fred took a deep breathe as he knocked on the door and braced himself for the reaction he'd receive.

He hadn't been welcome at this house in a long time.

The door swung open, and the sound of music spilt out from the garden, accompanied by the dull murmur of adult conversation, the shouts of excitement from children.

A flash of surprise raced across the older wizards face before a sneer of disgust replaced it.

Her father had almost stepped back and slammed the door shut again before Fred's reactions kicked in.

Pushing against the door he slid his body in the gap left between the door and it's frame. "Please, I just want to speak to you Ben."

"That's Mr Johnson to you boy, and you can have nothing to say to me that I want to hear. Get off my property. Now."

Benjamin Johnson was a tall stately wizard from whom Angelina had gotten her height. He'd been athletic in his younger years, and his posture and figure still recognised that fact. Dark hair was cropped closely to his head, although there were a few more grey hairs at his temple than the last time Fred had seen him. He was dressed in a beige pair of slacks and a white button down shirt.

"It's important."

"Like the last time you had something important to tell me?" The black wizard hissed, "You're not welcome here Weasley. I suggest you leave before someone, namely you, gets hurt. This is my grandson's birthday; I won't have it spoilt by scum such as you."

"It's about Angelina!" Fred protested.

Benjamin ignored it. "It's always about Angelina, stay away from my daughter." With a shove, he pushed Fred out of the entrance to his home and swung the door shut.

"You don't understand!" Shouted Fred as he pounded his fist against the front door. "She's in trouble; she'd messing around with Alexander Montague.

The front door was wrenched open and Benjamin regarded him stonily, his face set. His lip curled, and he said only one word. "Montague?"

Fred nodded silently, his face grave as he remembered the threats that Montague had issued should he go to Angelina's father and impart the news of their relationship.

"My office now." Benjamin growled. "Now!" He ordered when Fred didn't move.

Fred went into the study ahead of Benjamin.

The older wizard followed and closed the door behind them. It was a universal sign in the Johnson household that when the door was shut Benjamin was not to be disturbed.

Fred took a look around the study, noticing that nothing had changed in the years since he'd last been there except for an abundance of children's paintings that were pinned to a board on the door.

"Explain." Benjamin growled as he looked out of the window, his back to Fred.

"Angelina's in trouble, that or she's being extremely stupid. I've seen her out with Montague; they've been splashed across the wizarding magazines, the Daily Prophet and everything!

Their They're all over each other and you know as well as I that Angelina is not the kind of person to hang around with Montague out of choice! Look at all the trouble he caused her in school!"

Fred frowned, wanting to say more about their relationship, wanting to tell her father of the horrific deeds that Montague had been involved with, the plans he had for Angelina. But he couldn't, the Order of Phoenix wouldn't allow him to break his oath and speak about their involvement in the wizarding war against Voldemort.

"She's flaunting her relationship with him in front of everyone; she's acting little better than a scarlet woman! I've tried to speak to her, but she won't listen to me! You have to talk to her and convince her to leave him.

She is putting you all in serious danger by consorting with such a wizard! Even though you haven't been part of the wizarding world for a while, you know that wizards like Montague, raised in vice and murder from the moment they were born won't ever change!"

"You are despicable. After the way you treated my daughter, you come here and tell me such lies! Angelina would never endanger our family. Do you have any idea of how much she loves her sisters? Her nephew? Do you have any idea how much it hurts her that she could have had that?

You have no idea of what you took away from her that day. None at all. And in some twisted way I pity you, because you have no idea of what you lost either."

"What are you talking about?"

Benjamin shook his head at the younger wizard in disgust. "How could I have ever contemplated having you as a son-in-law?"

"I understand that what I did was unforgivable, but I care about Angelina-"

"You care? You care?" Benjamin thundered. "Everything that I have heard you say today has been complete shit! Complete fucking dragon shit!"

"I understand what happen in our relationship was partly my fault, but you cannot place all of the blame at my feet!" Fred protested, the colour in his face rising to match his hair.

"You were sleeping with another witch! If you have problems in a relationship you talk and you work things out. If that still doesn't sort things out, you do the honest thing and make a clean break before walking away! You didn't just break my daughter's heart that day, you killed my grandchild and I will never forgive you for that!"

Fred's face blanched, the colour leaking out of his face with alarming intensity.

Benjamin sighed, realising that he'd said too much, that he'd let his anger get away from him. "I think its best you leave." He said quietly. "You will not come back here and tell such despicable lies and tales again. I don't want you anywhere near Angelina, my wife, my step-daughters or my grandson."

Fred nodded his head in silence, Benjamin's words still ringing through his head. "You didn't just break my daughter's heart that day, you killed my grandchild and I will never forgive you for that!" He was stunned, frozen to the marrow at the proclamation.

Turning, he stumbled along the hallway and out of the front door. Dimly he heard the door close behind him with a resounding thud. The sun felt hot on his skin, but the sensation didn't register.

Numb with shock he turned down the road and began to trudge along to his portkey.

The horrendous words rang through his head again. "You didn't just break my daughter's heart that day, you killed my grandchild and I will never forgive you for that!"

What had he done?

-----------------

"Ben? Is everything alright?" Shaking himself from his thoughts, Benjamin pulled his absent gaze from the window and turned towards his wife.

He offered Hazel a weary smile in apology for disappearing from his grandson's birthday party. "I'm fine." He assured her.

Hazel said nothing, but she did give him the look. It was a look that said she wasn't going anywhere, and neither was he until he explained what the problem was. He'd been on the receiving end of it many times in the years they'd been married.

"That boy was here." He said shortly. "Trying to cause more trouble for Angelina."

Hazel nodded, and gave small sigh. She knew how much her husband worried over his daughter. They both did. Taking him by the hand, she led him back out to the party.

"He mentioned that she'd been spending a lot time recently with Montague."

"Oh-"

Hazel's reaction to the imparted piece of news was lost as she was interrupted by the arrival of their grandson.

"Alex is coming?" Josh asked his face alight with excitement.

"Who?" Asked Benjamin as he crouched down so that he was level with Josh.

"Alex!" The young boy scowled in annoyance at his grandfather's ignorance. His attention was soon diverted though by one of his friends, and without a second thought he was tearing across the grass towards the plastic swimming pool that had been erected especially for his birthday.

Benjamin's question was left unanswered and he quickly pushed it to the back of his mind. No doubt his grandson had invented another imaginary friend that he hadn't heard about yet.

---------------------

"I still think we should have got an owl." Montague muttered as he marched up the pathway to the Johnson residence behind Angelina.

Angelina scowled as Montague once more brought up the same argument they'd been having ever since he insisted on taking her shopping for Josh's birthday present. "I don't care what you think Montague; I am not going to get my nephew an Owl for his birthday. He's a kid, and it would be Emmy that would be one who'd end up looking after it. It's not as if he's off to Hogwarts in September either when he'll need one to write home. He's a child; he doesn't write letters to his friends, all of whom happen to be muggles. So no, Montague, I'm not getting Josh an owl."

Continuing up the path, Angelina led the pair of them up around the side of the house to the back garden. She could hear the radio playing in the background, the shouts and laughter of children as they ran about in the garden and the low hum of conversation originating from their parents.

"I don't know why you had to come anyway." Angelina snipped. "It's only going to cause trouble. You know how my father feels about dark magic and death eaters and yet you still persist in coming. I wouldn't have thought you'd want to sit around with a bunch of muggles anyway."

Catching her arm Montague swung Angelina around to face him and jerked her up against his body, the brightly wrapped birthday present was trapped between them, forgotten as they each looked at the other with defiant eyes.

Montague's voice was silkily smooth as he spoke, the words little more than a low purr of menace. "If you think for one second that I'd leave you alone after the past week, you are not the witch I thought you were. I am giving you no chance of being able to spill a sob story to your family, nor am I in the mood for chasing after you should you decide that you want to go back to your pathetic little flat after the party has finished."

His mouth crashed down on hers, hard and punishing as he made his point. Breaking away from the kiss, Montague only drew back from her mouth, his forehead pressed against hers as he spoke. "You are my witch. You belong in my bed, in my home. With me." His voice was a low growl; implacable. And then he was ruthlessly kissing her again, his hand fisting into her hair and holding her head in place so she couldn't draw away.

The side gate leading into the back garden swung open, and a startled yelp of surprise succeeded in the breaking the kiss.

Hazel's mouth was opened in an O of surprise, her eyes wide. "I um," clearing her throat she said, "I thought I heard voices."

Angelina flushed and turned fully so that she was facing her stepmother. "Hi Hazel." She stopped then, lost for words.

"Angelina honey, it's good to see you again, we haven't heard from you for the past week." Hazel smiled faintly at Angelina's discomfort, never having remembered seeing the young witch so embarrassed before. Not that she'd ever caught Angelina in such a position though. The man behind her though didn't seem embarrassed in the least as he stepped closer to Angelina and put his arm around her waist.

He was very different from the Weasley boy that Angelina had brought home. Very different. There was no boyish charm about this one, no wide smile and sparkling eyes. He was far more handsome than Fred, that went without saying. The strong jaw and straight nose gave him a slightly aristocratic look that said he was used to getting his way. It was his eyes though that disconcerted her the most. Dark blue, they looked bottomless as if he saw everything about you, that nothing could be hid from him.

She couldn't help but wonder how Angelina had become involved with someone so intense.

Going on looks alone, she couldn't help but think that this was the kind of man a mother expected to hurt her daughter.

But the clasp he had on Angelina's waist said that he wasn't going anywhere soon though.

What Benjamin was going to make of him she didn't know.

"Hazel, this is Montague." Angelina said, introducing the pair of them having recovered her wits.

"Montague." Hazel said, repeating the name and rolling it around her mind. It sounded familiar. Her eyes narrowed, "Isn't he the one that knocked you off your broom?"

Angelina looked at her in disbelief. "I don't believe this," she said to herself. "I just don't believe this." Addressing Hazel she asked, "Why does everyone do that? Why is it that whenever I introduce Montague, the first thing people say is 'Isn't he the one that knocked you off your broom?' Why do you all do that? Why? Why can't you say, 'Hey Angelina, didn't you knock him off his broom?'"

"Because you never knocked me off my broom Angel."

Angelina scowled at Montague. "Maybe not literately, but that is beside the point. There have been plenty of times that I've knocked you for six."

"That you have." Montague agreed pleasantly.

"Why don't you come on through, I'm sure the rest of the family are looking forward to seeing you both." Hazel announced and turned to lead them into the back garden.

Montague hung back, and prevented Angelina from following Hazel as well. "Just remember Angelina, you might have knocked me off my game, but if you ever want a ride on my broomstick you only need to ask." He whispered wickedly into her ear.

Angelina chocked at his innuendo and brought her sharply brought her elbow into contact with Montague's ribs. "Jerk," she huffed before storming off through the gateway.

Smirking to himself, Montague sauntered through the gateway behind her and closed the gate behind himself. It wouldn't do to have one of the children get out onto the road outside; the situation would cause far more trouble than it was worth.

Glancing over to Angelina, he saw that her family already surrounded her, having deposited Josh's birthday present on the table.

For the moment he'd been forgotten in their exuberance.

He didn't escape unnoticed for long however.

"ALEX!"

The next thing Montague knew, Josh had hurled himself forward, barrelling through the air like an oversized bludger, with the same amount of speed and force.

Reacting simultaneously he plucked the boy out of the air, chucked him skyward and then caught him again during his descent.

Josh screeched with excitement, laughter streaming from his mouth as his face creased with happiness. "You came!"

Setting the child gently on the ground, Montague bent down and smiled at him. "Hello Josh."

Josh smiled back, and immediately began talking, updating Montague on all the facts of his life that had changed since the last time they'd seen one another at the Quidditch Game. He was talking so quickly that Montague couldn't make heads nor tails of most of it and continued to nod along as if he actually understood whatever it was that he was being told.

----------------

Seeing the handsome stranger Angelina had brought with her prompted Emmy to grab hold of her sister and drag her out of earshot.

"Why didn't you tell me you were bringing Alex along?" She hissed, infuriated at her sister.

Angelina scowled, "I couldn't help it, he refused to take no for an answer!"

Emmy rubbed at her face in annoyance. "I can't believe this!" She muttered. "I only bloody well invited Derek along didn't I!"

Closing her eyes in exasperation Angelina said, "Please tell me you're joking."

"Do you really think I'd joke about this?"

"You knew about Alex!" Angelina protested.

"Yeah, but you were so closed mouth and angry about it I just assumed that things had come to an end with him. Not to mention I'd already invited Derek, and even if you still were with this Alex chap, I'd hoped you'd turn up by yourself! I couldn't turn around and say to Derek, 'Oh sorry, I know I invited you to my son's birthday party in the hopes you'd hit it off with my sister and give her a good shag so she'd loosen up, but she might be having sex with one of her old school buddies and if you both turn up it could be really awkward so would you mind if I ask you not to come instead. Thanks.'"

"Keep your voice down!" Angelina growled, shooting a glance over her shoulder to see Montague's attention still occupied by Josh, although how long that would last she didn't know. "Has he arrived yet?"

Sighing Emmy replied, "No, but I told him to get here from two o'clock onwards and it's only just turned one."

Angelina bit her lower lip nervously. The man in question named Derek was a muggle. Friends with Emmy, who'd been trying to set her up with on a blind date with him for years. They'd met several times before and while he'd shown that he'd be perfectly interested in taking their acquaintance further she'd held off.

There was no reason why she'd done so except that she'd not felt ready, and Derek nice though he was, handsome and successful though he was, was just Derek. And to be honest, just lacking something she was looking for even though she didn't know what it was.

The thought of him trying to hold his own against Montague was laughable.

Montague….Montague would not be happy.

The fact that she was anxious over his reaction disgusted her, how could she have allowed him to come with her, how had she allowed herself to bring him into the bosom of her family where he would be able to hurt her best?

She has been better to send her apologies and face her family's disappointment and anger than bring him along with her.

How was she going to handle this?

"Angelina, are you ok? You don't look so good."

She forced a smile onto her face. "I'm fine Emmy; I just don't want to embarrass Derek or anything. I'm counting on you to run interference." She said playfully. Idly she wondered if Emmy would notice how false her voice sounded and then prayed that she would not.

"Have you seen Kat?" She asked her sister. "I haven't spotted her yet."

"She's on her way," Emmy told Angelina. "I got a call to say she got caught up at work and would be coming over as soon as possible."

Making their way back across to the small party of friends and family, Angelina shortly paused at seeing Montague in the middle.

Evidently, Hazel had introduced him and he was in the process of charming them all smothering them in wide-open smiles that showed off his pearly white teeth.

They were all fooled, except her father maybe who stood a little to the side, his eyes trained on the younger wizard.

But then even Fred had had his work cut out trying to get her father to accept him, her father firmly believed that there was not a muggle or wizard alive good enough for his little girl.

Bracing herself for what was ahead, Angelina waded into the throng.

---------------

Still on tender hooks, things didn't improve for Angelina when Derek arrived.

With perfect manners, he flashed her a grin as he headed over to greet his hosts politely with a bunch of flowers and a bottle of wine.

Having made small talk with them for the required few minutes, he turned in her direction.

Glancing over to Montague, she saw that Tamsyn, one of Emmy's friends had attached herself to him taking every opportunity to get closer and flash her cleavage. Montague was making no effort to encourage her, he was not even making a polite show of it, instead he sat talking to Marc and Emmy's husband John, Josh on his lap ignoring her completely except when she thrust herself into the conversation where he issued a distant comment or set down before turning his attention back to the matter at hand.

The sight irritated her, although it shouldn't and she did her best to shake the feeling off.

It wasn't as if she wanted Montague was it?

Plastering a polite smile on her face, she allowed Derek to kiss her cheek and give her a brief hug in greeting. The actions spoke of a familiarity that didn't exist between them and made Angelina feel slightly uncomfortable. She scolded herself for being so silly though, he was like it with everyone.

Taking a discreet step back she said, "I wasn't expecting to see you here today Derek."

"Emmy invited me." He told her. "A tempting invitation it was too, although the thought of your company made me accept." He said flirting with her.

Derek was dressed casually, a pair of jeans and trainers and a collared t-shirt made up his outfit. He was tall, although not quite as tall as Montague with skin bronzed by the sun, muscles defined by the work he did outside. Tousled blonde hair blonde hair and smiling blue eyes gave him a boyish look, although she'd never seen him lacking maturity.

Kat, Emmy and Charlotte along with every other female she knew thought that she was mad to turn him away, but…there was just something lacking.

Angelina rolled her eyes at him and smiled. "Such a charmer."

"Indeed." Montague said crisply stepping up behind and pressing a kiss to the side of her neck. His arm stole around her waist, keeping her in place in front of him and entwining their fingers.

Angelina sucked in a breathe as she felt the press of his body against her back so tight that not even a wisp of air would be able to squeeze between them.

Montague's body appeared relaxed, a natural smile upon his face that was open, honest and apparently lacking in manipulation.

But Angelina could feel the tension in him, could sense the rage simmering behind the façade he was presenting at the moment. Could sense the overwhelming darkness that was raging inside him through the bond.

She was obviously the only one that could, the rest of the people out on the patio were relaxed, still chatting and laughing while they sipped wine and nibbled at the food set out on the table.

Derek's smile froze for a second at Montague's possessive actions before he regained his good manners and offered Montague his hand.

"Derek Thomas." He introduced himself.

Montague took it and gave a single shake before dropping the proffered hand. "Montague."

Derek raised a brow in amusement, "Oh, like Madonna, or Cher I presume." He commented. Taking note of Montague's un-amused expression he then said, "Or not."

Montague made no effort to continue the conversation, and Angelina couldn't think of a single thing to say, her mind completely blank.

"So…um…There's Charlotte, I haven't spoken to her yet this afternoon, please excuse me while I go and say hello."

"Not at all." Replied Montague speaking in the crisp lofty accent that had characterized the Slytherins' at school.

"What is wrong with you?" Angelina hissed as soon as Derek was out of earshot. "You didn't even introduce yourself properly."

"I don't like him; I don't want him using my first name." Montague muttered in a manner similar to that of a petulant schoolboy. "And you know what the matter is; he had his hands all over you!"

"He gave me a hug for crying out loud!"

"You stink of him, and he didn't just hug you, he kissed you too!"

"He's a friend! That's how I greet a lot of friends!"

"Well I don't like it!"

"Tough shit!" Angelina growled him. "Deal with it!"

Before the argument could go any further Angelina's father headed over to them.

So far he'd kept his distance except for the brief greeting when they'd arrived. It hadn't escaped Angelina's attention though that he had spent the majority of the time keeping an eye on Montague.

Her father's scrutiny was the last thing that she needed at the moment.

"I need your help a moment Angelina." Her father said in greeting, lacking his customary smile.

Montague hadn't released her completely at her fathers approach, but his hold on her had become a little more respectful.

"Sure!" Angelina answered brightly hoping that her dad didn't pick up on the brittle smile she had presented him with.

She had a horrid feeling that her father wanted to discuss Montague.

She stepped forward out of Montague's grasp towards her father. "I'll be back in a little while."

She was almost out of his reach when his hand clamped around her wrist.

In an instant Montague swung Angelina around back into his arms. "What kind of goodbye is that?" He teased. His lips swooped down and caught hers for a brief few seconds in a chaste kiss before he was releasing her again.

Angelina swallowed in stunned embarrassment and blushed. Just what was she supposed to do now?

Montague's eyes gleamed at her reaction, a satisfied smile tugging at his lips as if he'd done something he'd never been more proud of.

Benjamin's eyes narrowed as he looked at the pair, and when he spoke his voice was sharp. "Angelina."

Clearing her throat and caught blushing once more, Angelina left Montague with another word and followed her dad across the patio and into the kitchen.

He slid the glass door shut quietly behind them and then turned to face her.

"Are you completely out of your mind?"

Angelina was ready for the attack, but it still hurt. She deliberately pretended ignorance. She knew her father was talking about Montague, but she didn't have any answers to the questions he would be asking. "I don't understand your meaning."

Benjamin's eyebrows rose in patronising astonishment. "You don't understand my meaning?" He said mockingly. "Well then, let me make it very clear for you. What are you thinking becoming involved with a Montague? Do you not have any idea of his reputation? Of the reputation his family is renowned for?

Do you think anything can come from a relationship with him except for pain, humiliation and regret?

His grandfather kidnapped his grandmother! His own father was forced to marry his mother because he'd gotten her pregnant. She was beneath him in everyway, if she hadn't been pure-blooded, she would have disappeared quietly never to be seen or heard of again!

This is not a family you want to become involved with. He is not a man you should trust."

Angelina took a deep breathe and tried to respond diplomatically. "You can't blame Alex for his ancestors' mistakes. That is not fair."

Her father snorted. "Fair! The world is not a fair place and Montague's are not fair witches and wizards. Do you have any idea of his business dealings?" He asked. "Do you? It might be legitimate but the ministry have been keeping a close eye on him for years. Just because they haven't found anything on him yet doesn't mean they won't. He won't be able to stay one step ahead of them forever you know."

"I've meant some of his business associates." Angelina replied calmly. "They seemed like very upstanding citizens."

Benjamin shook his head. "You don't see it. You won't see it."

"Look, I know you think he isn't a particularly nice person, and admittedly he does have a bit of a temper on him at times, and he is stubborn and forceful when he wants his way. But he would never lay a hand on me, or point his wand at me either." Explained Angelina. Her heart felt like a cold lump of lead in her chest as she tried to defend Montague to her father, knowing it would cause her family less pain if her father accepted the handsome wizard.

As carefully as she danced around the truth and her father's accusations though, Angelina felt sick to her stomach for telling her family that they were wrong for feeling the way they did about Montague when she felt the same way.

"He's very protective of me Dad. He likes to listen to my opinions, and we have the same interests and he would spoil me if I let him.

Not only that, but Josh likes him and he's good with children."

"You're saying he's a suitable wizard for my daughter to date because Josh likes him?" Benjamin asked in disbelief, his voice rising as he slammed his hands down on the counter.

"Children are good judges of characters." Angelina replied quietly aware that her father was about to lose his temper.

"If children were good judges of characters," Benjamin said scathingly, "they won't get into cars with strangers for sweets, or wander off with a random person without telling their parents because they've been told they can see a puppy."

Angelina felt her eyes begin to tear up and she stepped back from the island counter they'd been facing each other from and crossed her arms about her waist.

Looking at her defensive pose and the hurt look in her eyes, Benjamin sighed and rubbed his face in his hands. When he'd gained enough control of himself to speak his voice was soft. "I just don't want to see you get hurt. No matter how old you are, you'll always be my little girl. Men like Montague don't stick around sweetie. Why couldn't you give Derek a chance? He's a nice mannered lad, a good head on his shoulders, runs his own successful business and not bad looking either. What more can a woman want?"

'Men like Montague don't stick around sweetie.' The words vibrated in her head. She knew men like Montague didn't stick around, and when they did, it was to supermodels that never had a hair out of place.

A part of her wished her father's statement were true. But she knew, she just knew in her heart if hearts that Montague would be sticking around. If she were, only a diversion he wouldn't have bothered with the binding ritual that resulted on the tattoo on her back or the necklace around her neck.

Angelina gave a sad smile and tried to answer his question about Derek. "I don't know Dad, I honestly don't." She shrugged her shoulders in resignation. "There just isn't that…that spark with Derek I guess."

"Angelina, just because you have a spark with someone doesn't mean that it will last forever. The fire and passion that might burn so fierce and bright in the beginning can quickly die out."

"I know Dad."

A long silence stretched between them.

"Before you turned up today, I had a visitor. I said something I shouldn't have." Benjamin confessed. Now wasn't the best time to confess, but she needed to know.

Something within Angelina froze. She didn't want to hear what her dad was about to say, she didn't want to deal with the bad news. The urge to raise her hands to her ears to shut the confession was strong.

She later wished she had done just that when she found out what her father had done.

"Fred Weasley was here."

"Fred?" She muttered inaudibly.

"He came to warn me about your involvement with Montague." Stated Benjamin plainly. He pulled out one of the kitchen stools, sat down, and then proceeded to drum his fingers on the countertop.

Angelina followed his example. "What did he want?"

"Demanded I put a stop to it. Said that he was using you and implied that he must have you under a spell of some kind because you were acting so out of character. Told me that you were acting like a scarlet woman."

"And you believed him?" As Angelina spoke the words, she heard her voice crack.

Reaching across the island, Benjamin caught his daughter's hands and cradled them in his own. "Of course I didn't believe him. He made me extremely angry, and I was worried for you, but I didn't believe what he was saying."

Angelina was silent; something told her that this wasn't the end of the discussion.

It was as her father rubbed his hands over hers soothingly that they both became that something was different.

Frowning, Angelina pulled her left hand back and looked at it.

There, glittering proudly on her wedding finger was an eternity ring.

She stared at it in shock. How had she not noticed it before?

The ring was made up of diamonds and emerald, set alternatively in gold around the entire ring.

When had Montague slipped it onto her finger?

Why hadn't she noticed?

How could she have missed a ring like that on her hand? She never usually wore rings, and the few she owned were all fitted for other fingers, surely she would have felt the weight on her hand, she would have noticed the unusual sensation of having the metal on her skin, the stone pushing against the inside of her middle or little finger?

"Where did you get that from?" Benjamin asked quietly.

She knew what he was hoping she would say. He was hoping that she would say she'd brought it or that someone other than Montague had given it to her. She couldn't. "Montague must have meant it as a surprise."

Benjamin frowned. "I would have thought he'd have at least wanted to tell you. But then, perhaps from his point of view giving out such expensive pieces of jewellery is a mere triviality. Money won't make you happy Angelina. Don't make that mistake; don't read too much into his motives."

Angelina knew that money wouldn't make her happy. That had been something she'd understood about herself a long time ago. But unlike her father, she couldn't dismiss Montague's gift as a 'mere triviality.'

She had seen the ring several times before.

Athalie had been wearing it in her portrait.

"I won't." She promised her father. "Now, tell me what happened with Fred."

Her father had previously been looking at her in the eye, now he shifted his gaze away in guilt. "I lost my temper with him. I'm so sorry Sweetie but I lost my temper with him and let it slip. I'm so sorry. It just came out before I knew it."

"I see." Said Angelina eerily calm.

"Also…" Benjamin paused and then began again. "I also think that I should tell you this so that you have some time to prepare. Emmy is pregnant again. She and John are planning to announce it later on this evening, but I thought it better to warn you in advance. She said you'd be fine with it, but I just wanted to give you a bit of a warning."

She felt as if she was drifting away from the situation, as if she was watching the scene play out in front of her. That didn't sound like her voice, that didn't look had like her face, so composed.

"I…" Pulling her hands out of her dad's grasp Angelina stood, her eyes fixed on a point beyond his shoulder. "Please excuse me for a moment."

Blindly she turned away from her dad and left the room.

Her eyes felt dry, and she had no desire to break into hysterics but all the same, it didn't feel like she was in control. It didn't feel like her body.

She glided towards the stairs, almost as if she was taking her time. Each one of her steps was even and precise.

Angelina made her way up them, her hand gripping lightly to the stair rail and once she had reached the landing, she took the first left into the bathroom.

Quietly she closed the door behind her, the sounds of the people out in the garden barely discernable now.

Like a robot, she pulled the lid down on the toilet and sat down on the cold fake wooden top.

Leaning forward on her knees, she buried her face in her hands.

After a moment, she felt the tears come.

--------------------

Montague had kept a strict eye on the door behind which Angelina and her father had disappeared.

He knew what Benjamin would want to talk about.

He wasn't quite so sure though, of how Angelina would reply.

He'd used the excuse earlier that he didn't want her to run to her family with a pathetic sob story. The truth however was quite the opposite.

He'd forced his company on her so that if she did need his help, he would be there to give it to her.

She needed the chance to try and sort things out with her father first though. He was aware of that and only as a last resort was he going to push himself into that conversation. He was going to be close by though if she had any need of him.

The door slid open, and Benjamin appeared from the kitchen looking haggard and closed the sliding door behind himself.

The older wizard offered a vague smile to one of his guests as he headed over to his wife, there was an air of strain about him that hadn't been present before.

It didn't escape his notice thought that Angelina hadn't followed her father out.

Montague moved away from the guests he had been talking with intending to ferret out Angelina only to be waylaid by Josh.

He smiled down at the young boy and ruffled his hair; the child had taken the strangest liking to him and clung determinedly to him like a limpet.

"Where are you going Alex? You're not leaving yet are you? You promised to play Quidditch with me and Aunt Angle-lina!"

"I'm not off just yet Josh, don't you worry, we'll have our game before your Aunt and I leave."

His reply didn't deter the young boy by his side one bit. "You promise?"

"I have already promised I would Josh," Montague reminded him gently.

Josh rolled his eyes. "That doesn't mean anything, once Dad promised that I he would get me my very own owl, but when Mum found out she just looked at him with squinty eyes and he changed his mind. He said I wasn't old enough, but that's not true because he always said that when he was my age he had his very own dog." Josh leaned forward towards Montague in a confidential manner and lowered his voice to a loud whisper. "But I know that he's just scared of Mum."

Smiling, Montague crouched down so that they were eye level. "One day Josh, you will discovered just how dangerous a mad woman is. It is a more sensible man who picks his battles."

"Like you do?"

"I am not always that sensible Josh." There was a wealth of meaning behind the confession that the young child didn't understand. "Run along and play with your friends Josh, I must find your Aunt."

Smiling good-naturedly, Josh obeyed Montague's instructions and disappeared off with his friends. Ruefully Montague shook his head, Josh had declared his intentions of joining the Slytherin House when he went to Hogwarts but Montague knew the hat wouldn't even consider that House for the young wizard.

Slipping unnoticed into the deserted house, Montague wandered through it feeling no remorse at invading the privacy of his guests as he studied the arrangements of furniture, the books on display and the family pictures on the walls and mantelpiece.

He treaded up the stairs and then searched through the bedrooms.

He pushed open the last door, knowing that he had finally found Angelina.

His own Dark Angel was sitting on the toilet her arms about her body, silent tears steadily falling down her cheeks. Her shoulders were trembling, but other than that, she made no other movement as he entered the bathroom and closed the door making sure to lock it.

His suspicions had been correct; whatever he father had wanted to talk about had gone badly.

Angelina still hadn't said a word, hadn't even looked at him despite knowing full well he was in the room with her.

Scooping her up into his arms, Montague cradled her in his lap and took her seat.

Angelina turned her face into the crook of his neck and Montague softly stroked her hair and pressed at kiss to her temple as he tightened his grasp.

A part of Angelina was disgusted with herself for seeking comfort from Montague when he was the one causing a majority of the problems she'd been having, but after the talk with her father and the revelation about Emmy's pregnancy, she didn't have the energy to be angry with him.

And right now when he wasn't talking and acting all obnoxious he wasn't that bad, and he did smell rather nice.

Sighing, Angelina felt the tears start to cease, but made no effort to move from Montague's arms.

She was happy for her sister, she truly was. But it brought everything that had once been within her grasp back to the surface again. She was far more upset about the argument she'd had with her father about Montague, and the revelations of Fred's visit and the consequences than that of her sister's pregnancy.

But it was going to be difficult coping with it. Everyone would treat her like a delicate piece of glass, positive she was going to shatter at any moment because of a thoughtless comment they made.

"What happened with your father Angel?"

Angelina gave a half-hearted shrug. "Wanted to talk about you."

"And what did you tell him?"

The witch in his lap snorted. "What do you think I told him Montague?" She asked. "I told him that he can't blame you for your family's reputation! I told him that you would never lay a hand or wand on me! I told him that you're protective of me and that Josh likes you!

I promised that I wouldn't read too much into your actions, that I wouldn't let you hurt me when you finally walk away. I promised that I wouldn't let you turn my head with extravagant and expensive gifts."

Montague's voice was a low drawl, "You know full well Angelina that I won't be walking away."

A self-deprecating laugh emitted from her mouth. "I figured that out a while ago. When did you put your Grandmothers eternity ring on my finger?" She asked quietly her voice a mere whisper.

"You know when you finally gave up searching and came to look for me where you knew I'd be? I knew it belonged on you that I night I returned home to find you in my bed, fast asleep and waiting for me. I put it on that evening, while you were still asleep." Answered Montague, his voice warm and intimate.

"Why didn't you tell me? Is there some charm on there to keep me from noticing it?"

"No." Montague's hands plucked at hers, his fingers rubbing back and forth across the stones of the ring as they both looked at it.

"Why didn't you say anything?" Asked Angelina, not yet ready to release her line of questioning.

Montague shifted beneath her, his body tense. "Doesn't matter." He muttered. In reality, he'd been afraid that if she noticed it immediately, she'd take it off.

With her eyes narrowed, Angelina looked at him sternly. "What aren't you telling me Montague?"

"What are you trying to steer me away from?" Montague asked evenly, turning the question back on her.

"Nothing." She tried to stand and remove herself from Montague's grip, but he refused to let her go. "We need to go downstairs Montague, they'll be cutting the cake soon and Emmy and John have an announcement to make. I need to be there for it."

"Sit down." Montague told her implacably. "They won't start without you. I want you to tell me what the matter is."

Angelina sneered at him. "I want doesn't get. Didn't your mother teach you any manners?"

Montague caught her face in his hand, "I was being polite, Angel," he hissed. "But since that isn't working, let me re-phrase it. Tell me what's wrong. Now."

"Get a grip Montague, just because you've blackmailed me into sleeping with you doesn't mean that you know everything about me."

"You'd be surprised, Angel, about what I can dig up when I set my mind to it. Medical records. School records. Work records. I could get a complete documentation of your life since the day you were born. I did."

Angelina stared at him in growing horror. It couldn't be possible. It simply couldn't be. People didn't have that kind of power in real life. He was lying. That was all he was doing. Trying to psyche her out into telling him what he wanted to know.

"Let me go Montague," she said with a quiet dignity.

"Tell me what announcement Emmy and John are going to make." He insisted.

Angelina threw up her hands. "Fine!" She snapped. "Emmy and John are going to be telling everyone that she's pregnant again."

A silence lengthened between them before Montague spoke.

"Angel, I know you too well to think that you would be upset over your sister's happiness." Montague said gently. "I know there was more to your conversation with your father than Emmy and myself."

"Fine. You want to know the truth?" Growled Angelina, "Fred turned up. He and my father had words. My father lost his temper and told the prat something he shouldn't have. Since you're an all seeing, all knowing wizard Montague, why don't you tell me what it was?" She said sarcastically.

Her eyes were spitting fire at him, but Montague refused to let her rile him. The following conversation was not going to be easy, and things would go a lot smoother if he kept his temper reined in. Unfortunately, she was one of the few people that could prick it, but today he was not going to lose his famed control.

Feeling a sudden sympathy for all she had been through, Montague gripped her chin gently and turned her to look at him. He gave an imperceptible sigh and cupped the side of her face. "I know about the baby Angelina."

Her eyes widen, and became shiny with tears. Her gaze darted away from him and became fixed on the tiling around the bath.

"Angel…" He encouraged her to face him, but the witch in his lap stubbornly refused to look at him.

In reply she shifted her shoulders away from him, everything about her warned him to back off, but Montague knew that if he did they would never have this conversation again.

To his surprise, she spoke first. "How long have you know?"

Montague tightened his grip on her and pressed a kiss to her shoulder. "Since the beginning. I wasn't lying when I said I had checks on you done."

Her shoulders folded in on herself and her hands came up to cover her face. "I don't believe this. I really don't." She said aloud, but whether to herself or him, Montague wasn't sure. "But why am I surprised? Why do I refuse to believe it? It's you after all."

Her voice was thick with emotion, "Why did you do it Alexander? What was so important that you couldn't stand not knowing?"

"It wasn't like that." Montague reassured her.

She gave a huff. "Then what was it like? What did you want to know? When was the last time I had a check up? How I did on my exams? How many relatives I have? Who my friends were? What were my favourite restaurants? How I like to chill out? What Quidditch team I support? When was the last time I went out on a date? Who my last relationship was with? How long it lasted? How many times I fucked the guy? What were our favourite positions and places? Did you want to know if he was better than you? He might not have been," she said answering the last question herself, before delivering the striking blow. "But at least I slept with him willingly."

Her voice had been rising with an hysterical edge to it until the last sentence which was delivered with a deadly hiss.

Intent rose within him to throw the nights she'd come to him back in her face, but Montague refused to give her what she wanted and take the bait.

Ignoring the ugly words, but promising himself retribution at a later date Montague continued as if she'd merely asked her first two questions. "I wanted to know you."

"Why not just ask then like a normal person would?"

When he spoke there was an undertone lacing his voice, almost like a childish petulance after a favourite toy had been denied. "You wouldn't have told me."

"Of course I wouldn't have told you!" Angelina exploded. "You think I'd give you anything that you could use against me and my family?"

"What is done is done." Said Montague prosaically. "I can't change the past."

"Well I wish I could! I wish that I'd never gone to that stupid club! I wish I'd never gone to Hogwarts! I wish I'd never met you!"

Montague didn't bother to reply to that statement. It would have been better for her not to have ever met him. But he couldn't imagine not having her in his life anymore.

Steering the conversation back on track, he asked instead, "Why didn't you tell Fred about the baby?"

"I don't want to talk about this Montague." Angelina protested.

In response, he merely asked his question again.

This time Angelina told him what he wanted to know. She was too tired to fight anymore; it was inevitable that he would get his way anyway. "I'd just found out earlier that day. I hadn't been too well, thought I had a bug or the flu. After a few days it didn't clear up despite the potions I'd taken, so, I went to the doctors. Found out then and went straight home to tell Fred."

"And you found him and the mud blood bitch in bed together and never told him." Montague concluded for her.

"Yep. I was too hurt and shocked to think to tell him then, and after that, there wasn't much point. I didn't want to speak to him and rehash old hurt." Angelina slumped back against him, emotionally exhausted.

But now she'd started talking, it felt like she couldn't stop.

"I felt so guilty." She confessed in a whisper. "I was so worried. I had no clue as to what I was going to do. Being pregnant and in a committed relationship was one thing, being pregnant, newly broken up and homeless was quite another. I know that I could have gone back home with Dad and Hazel or stayed with Emmy but…I got myself into the mess, I had to get myself out. For me."

She gave a soft snort and scrubbed at her eyes with the heels of her hands.

"So I pulled my self together and started to get on with life. Told everyone about the baby. They were all really supportive about it, despite the situation. But I was so scared, and a part of me was resentful. It would have been so much more simple if I wasn't pregnant. I knew that I was going to have to tell Fred, but I kept putting it off. I couldn't face it. And then…then I didn't need to." She said in a small voice that shook slightly.

"I had a miscarriage." She explained. "And I was devastated; it seemed it was just one thing after another. But what was worse, was that a part of me, a very small part of me felt relief. And I was disgusted with myself. It was an end to everything; I could get over it and move on."

"Ah Angel…" Montague murmured as he drew her back into his arms. He held her tightly, for once in his life unsure of what to say to comfort her. She was upset enough as it was, he did not want to inadvertently say the wrong thing that would cause her any more pain.

"I'm a horrible, evil person." She chocked out. "I felt relief when my baby died."

"No you didn't Angel," Montague cut in, unable to hear her talk like that about herself. "You said it yourself. You pulled yourself together and started to make a new life for the both of you. You told your family and were preparing yourself to break the news to that prat. More than that, you told me you were devastated when you lost the baby. I think the relief you felt was from knowing that you wouldn't have to have any further dealings with him, not over the miscarriage.

I know you Angelina. You wouldn't have put your baby at any risk. You wouldn't have taken any chances that you might cause some harm. You did nothing wrong. As much as it pain's me to say it, sometimes these things happen. For no reason and for mistake made." Montague paused, and licked his lips searching for something to say that would give his Angel some comfort. But he could think of nothing. "It just wasn't meant to be. It wasn't your fault."

"What if it knew?" Angelina asked almost imperceptibly.

Montague frowned, not understanding the question. "What if they it knew what?"

Angelina swallowed hard, her heart heavy with dread that Montague might confirm her deepest fear: the one that she'd never spoken aloud to anyone., Angelina said, "What if my baby knew that there were times I didn't want it? What if that is the reason why I lost it? Because it thought that I didn't love it!"

Her voice had started as a quiet whisper, but by the time she'd surpassed her last question to him, her voice had risen to a hysterical shriek.

"Angelina stop it!" Montague snapped. He would allow her many things, but he wouldn't allow her to torment herself with guilt that was no fault of her own. Grabbing her shoulders, he gave her shake and forced her to look at him.

"Look at me!" He ordered as she tried to evade his gaze. "You did nothing wrong. That child in your stomach knew you loved and cared for it. I know that as surely as I know there is magic running through our veins. You might have had those doubts and fears., and I expect every woman having a child has had some form of them, whether they were married, in a relationship or the child was a result of a one-night stand. Everyone has fears and doubts; we would not be human if we did not. That child would have known that deep down you were excited about its arrival, that you would have smothered it in love and attention and been a good mother. It would have known that you loved it, just the same as it knows you love it now."

"But…"

"No 'buts,'" Montague replied softly. Where his voice had been hard and implacable before, it was now soft and reassuring. "That is the truth; stop punishing yourself for something that is not your fault and you had no control over."

Angelina clenched her teeth together, fighting for control of her emotions. She wasn't fighting hard enough though when since her lips trembled and her eyes filled with tears. She blinked, and then they were cascading down her cheeks and she did not think they would stop any time soon.

There was a lump in her throat, stopping her from speaking, from any sound passing her lips. She simply sat on Montague's lap, her body tight with a tumult of feelings.

"Let go," Montague said quietly. "Let it go."

Before she knew it Angelina let it out, she turned her head and buried her face in Montague's chest, clinging to him like a drowning man clings to his life raft.

Montague returned the embrace, smoothing her hair back from her face and crooning unintelligible words of comfort to her. It hurt him to see her so distressed, but the tears were good tears. They were of the healing sort that would allow her cope with the dam of emotions that had been released and move on to live her life.

In those moments there seemed to be a connection between the pair of them. A perfect understanding of sorts. As though they were the parents that had lost a much anticipated child and were mourning that loss together.

For the first time since Warrington's attempted rape, there was a 'togetherness' that Montague relished in. Urged on by the knowledge that she was seeking something from him that he was able to provide. Something other than dresses and jewels and pretty baubles.

Eventually the tears dried up, and Angelina fell silent. But neither of them made a movement to release the other. Thinking that she was about too, Montague tightened his hold on her, ready to prolong them moment.

In response, Angelina nestled deeper into the embrace.

How long they sat in silence was unknown.

The sound of the party drifted up and through the open window, and they both knew they'd have to make an appearance soon.

Slipping off Montague's lap, Angelina busied herself on freshening her face and straightening her clothes with a few well placed charms.

Montague did the same, unwilling to break the peaceful spell of tranquillity that arrived between them. The moment would not be put off forever though.

Wordlessly he pulled her into another embrace to which she offered no resistance, instead wrapping her arms about his waist and resting her cheek on his shoulder.

"How are you feeling?" He asked.

Angelina let out a quiet sigh. "Better." She answered truthfully. "There is still much to come to terms with…but I feel more at peace with myself. Thank you," she added after a pause.

"Anything for you, my Dark Angel." Montague promised her as he sealed the heart wrenching conversation with a kiss to her forehead.

------------------

Kat paused, holding her breathe as she heard the bathroom lock click and the door open. A few seconds later and she heard it being closed, and then the tread of footsteps on the staircase.

She sucked in a deep breath and then darted from her former bedroom across the hallway into the bathroom.

Once inside she immediately turned the lock and turned on the shower, waiting for the hot water to start running through the pipes.

Turning to face herself in the mirror, Kat studied the reflection she was presented with.

She'd been gone longer than she'd anticipated a statement that was testified by the dark circles under her eyes. Blood was smeared across her face, it was ingrained in her hair, clumping together the strands of hair and turning them a different colour.

She'd returned relatively unscathed. She had been fortunate to obtain no serious injuries. She most severe being the scrape down the left side of her back and along her bottom from where she'd been thrown back along the stone floor.

There were a few other bruises and minor abrasions, but they could be easily concealed, and, once she obtained a new wand, or was able to access her first aid potions kit later on this evening, healed.

Her current wand had been broken in the fight, which was one of the reasons she was covered in so much blood. She'd had to revert to muggle methods, which were surprisingly satisfying.

With her wand out of commission, she'd also had to revert to her emergency portkey, which had carried her directly to her parent's house. If she had the time she'd have gone home to wash and change, but the length of time that would have taken wouldn't have been worth it. Her family would have missed her, and by the time she'd have arrived back fresh and clean the party would have been coming to an end.

Therefore, she intended to have a shower at her parents, and dress in one of the spare outfits she'd left in her old room. Hopefully they wouldn't notice.

Undoing the snap of her jeans, Kat pulled the soggy heavy denim off her legs and removed her socks.

Making sure there were towels for when she got out, and a good supply of shampoo, conditioner and soap in the shower, she stuck her hand under the warm spray of water.

Happy with the temperature she began to unbutton her shirt, ready to wash the sticky substance from her body, and watch the blood of Lucius Malfoy swirl down the drain.

-----------------------------

They returned downstairs, looking as though nothing was remiss, that Angelina had not been crying her heart out in the upstairs bathroom no so long ago.

Walking out onto the patio, Montague kept his arm about Angelina's waist and she made no movement to extract it from around her body. Leaning in to his side, she didn't protest as he picked up a glass of wine and then took her away from the crowd deciding to settle in a lone lounge chair in the shade beneath a beech tree.

She'd had enough of the crowd, and was quite content to allow Montague to look after her and keep all unwanted company away.

He was quite useful at times like these.

Once she was settled in his lap once again, he pressed a wine glass into her hand and urged to her a sip. "It will do you some good. Not as much good as brandy, but I glanced into the liquor cabinet on the way down and there was none to be had. Therefore, wine will have to do. I'll get you a glass of brandy when we get home," he promised as he pushed back a strand of hair behind her ear. "A hot bath, a light supper and then straight to bed." He said as though she was a young child.

"You spend so much time running round and looking after other people, that it's time someone looked after you." Montague murmured absently as he planted a kiss to her temple.

Angelina nodded, and took a sip of the wine. She leant forward, intending to put the glass of the wine on the patio, but Montague was ahead of her. Removing it from her grasp, he also took a sip and then set it down.

It was nice to be looked after for a change. Angelina resolved to make the most of, knowing that she would not stand for it when she was feeling more like herself and she'd gotten a good night's sleep.

Settling herself against Montague's chest, Angelina allowed her eyes to drift closed and listened to the hum of conversation from her father's guests:. The excited children,. The buzz of the radio.

She was being dreadfully rude, but couldn't work up the energy to care.

Beginning to drift off she gave a contented sigh.

And then chaos struck, the world around them exploding into green light.

-----------------------

Thought's anyone? Or have I left you too stunned?!


	24. Chapter 22

A/N: As always a big thankyou to my three wonderful beta's, Nocturngirl, Gemma and Polaris who have been fab as always! Thanks for all your help and support!

Another big thankyou to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter as well, I hope you take the time to do so for this chapter too! I love knowing what you think!

A quick warning - without wanting to give too much away, this chapter does contain adult content! If you've read the previous chapter you'll probably have a good idea of why!

Enjoy!

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One moment Angelina had been half-asleep on Montague's lap, and the next she was tumbling off his lap and being thrown behind him. Instantly, his hand was on the back of her neck and he was thrusting her down behind the chair on which they had been relaxing.

She gasped as she felt the sting of the concrete patio as it removed several layers of skin on the heels of her hands and knees.

Initially she didn't fight him, confused over what was happening. It took a moment for everything to sink in, to realise what she was hearing.

The excited screams of joy from the children had suddenly transformed into terrified shrieks.

Parents were shouting out their children's names, desperately trying to get to them.

Chairs and tables were knocked over by the aggressors and their prey as they tried to defend themselves, the plastic furniture scraping along the paved slabs of the patio.

Angelina couldn't hear anything but a barrage of voices. Unable to make out which of those shouts belonged to members of her family, she tried to lift her head, but Montague held her down.

Her hands grasped for her wand, but she couldn't reach it, her fingers slippery on the smooth wood with blood and sweat.

Then his hand left the back of her neck, and slipped around to cover her mouth to prevent her from shouting out.

"Stay quiet," he ordered in a voice that she had not heard from him before. His voice was hard and calculated in a manner that was even more intense than when he argued with her. His eyes were focused on the battle around them, his body tense and ready to fight.

His hand had released its grip on her neck, but now his entire body covered her as he kept her hidden from sight as much as possible and prevented her from rushing to the aid of her family and friends.

Tucked away in the far corner, they hadn't been noticed yet.

The others were left to the non-existent mercy of the Death Eaters. They were Muggles. Unable to understand what was happened and unable to defend themselves, they were vulnerable to the Death Eaters' attack.

Benjamin had drawn his wand and was currently engaged in duel with a Death Eater whose mask still concealed his identity.

Death Eaters seemed to be everywhere attacking at random.

They didn't appear to have any plan or order in mind.

They didn't target the parents first and then the children afterwards. Nor did they attack the children, turning on the adults when they made to intervene.

They simply invaded, swarming over the back of the garden, taking down anyone in their path like a plague of locusts, much like that old saying, 'first come first served.'

Camilla Rigby was the first child to be struck down. A simple Avada Kedavra wiped out the life from her. She crumpled in heap without a sound, blonde hair splayed out like a halo. The surprised expression upon seeing the Death Eaters appear from thin air was still on her face.

Her parents ran screaming to her side, only to be struck down beside her by the same curse. They landed sprawled on the ground, their arms outstretched towards her.

Janice, little Toby Adam's mother, was the next casualty. Under the Imperius spell, she repeatedly stabbed herself with the kitchen knife by the barbeque. Her husband tried to stop her but was hit by a stunning spell, forced to watch his wife kill herself, and then viciously hit with a slicing spell that left him dead seconds later.

Searching through the fighting, Montague tried to locate Angelina's family.

He turned in time to see her brother in law, John, struck down by a curse. His body twitched on the grass as his blood drained out of him, a small amount of it trickling from his mouth to pool on the patio.

Realising the danger that Josh was in, Montague began to move. The boy had last been by his father, but anything could have happened to him in that time.

As soon as Montague moved though, Angelina followed intent on going with him.

"Stay there," he told her.

"No!" she hissed back. "That's my family out there! I wouldn't cower in the corner while they're murdered!"

Montague knocked Angelina to the ground, his body protecting hers as a stray hex flew above them. Sparks of power sprayed over them when a hex hit the tree just behind them.

"Stay here!" Montague growled.

"Get off me!"

Drawing his wand, Montague shifted his body slightly. "Petrificus Totalus!" Flicking his wand, the spell travelled only a short distance before reaching its target.

Angelina went still beneath him, and Montague cursed himself knowing that what he had done just would cause him immeasurable grief. That everything they'd built, the trust and understanding that they'd learnt over time and had been accepted that afternoon would now be lost.

His actions would drive a wedge between them that he did not believe Angelina would forgive anytime soon.

It was for the best though, Montague knew. He had to keep her safe for her family's sake as well as for his own peace of mind.

Josh stood behind his father. The child stood immobile, not a tear running down his face, not a sound emitted past his lips. Unable to comprehend the savagery that was going on around him, the young boy was frozen.

Montague didn't waste a second apparating over to him.

He stumbled as he appeared by the young boy, tripping over a leg that belonged to the prat who'd been chatting up Angelina earlier. Derek Thomas had been killed in the split seconds it had taken Montague to reach Josh's side. Montague glanced down but paid the muggle no more attention after the first brief glance. He grumbled. The muggle was as inconvenient and annoying in death as he was in life.

Landing at last in front of the young boy, Montague barely had time to catch hold of his shoulders before he flattened Josh beneath him as they narrowly avoided a curse that whizzed by overhead. Knowing that if he kept his wand in his grasp he was going to break it as he landed, he let go of it.

Better that he lose his weapon for a moment than be incapacitated for the rest of the fight.

"Alex?" Josh whispered to Montague as he lay pressed face down against the lawn.

"Yes," Montague panted reassuring the young child, his arm stretched out and straining to close the distance to where his wand lay. Without it, he was unable to apparate them both away to safety or defend them if need be.

As he lay on the ground, he caught sight of Emmy out of the corner of his eye. She lay beside the table where she'd last been standing, a pale, ethereal green glow surrounding her body, the colour concentrated about her stomach, the child also dead within her.

He averted his eyes, and hoped that Josh had not noticed.

Josh's voice was a mere thread of sound that was difficult to hear through the noise. "What happened to my daddy?"

There had been many times in his life that Montague had been asked a question.

This was the first time he didn't know the answer.

How was he to say that his daddy was dead?

How could he explain that it was his fault?

He'd been so cocky, so arrogant, and so full of himself that he'd been convinced there would be no lasting hurt by his involvement with Angelina.

Because what sane witch or wizard would even think about going against Alexander Montague?

His arm burning, Montague felt the tips of his fingers brush against the smooth ash wood of his wand. It would be far easier to shift his body away from Josh's, but he didn't dare with the number of wild hexes and curses flying around.

At last his wand was within his grasp and he was able to get Josh to relative safety.

Apparating back to Angelina, he was relieved to see that she that she was still unharmed. The glint in her eyes told him how angry she was, but despite her feelings she barely glanced at him, her attention focused on her nephew in his arms.

As he made it back to her, a loud screech rented through the air. Several Death Eaters had caught Charlotte; they'd circled her, all casting individual 'crucio' curses at once. The pain, after that first initial scream over took her and she fell to the ground, her body still and quiet except for muscle spasms and twitches.

Within seconds, her body made no movement as all except to rock with the force of the hexes as they hit her.

He turned, trying to hide the sight from Angelina and Josh as much as possible.

Pushing Josh down so that he was huddled next to his aunt, Montague released her from the stunning spell. Immediately she pulled Josh into her arms, rocking him gently, murmuring incomprehensible words, and comforting sounds. She also made sure that his face was tucked against her neck so he couldn't see anything else. What he'd witnessed already was terrible enough.

Next Montague dug in his trouser pocket and pulled out the items he was searching for: a small roll of paper, no bigger than his thumbnail, and a small silver key. Delicately made, the silver key had runes engraved on it's top and stem. It truly was a work of art.

An abrupt tap with his wand, and he was assured that the message would now appear on the paper at the required time and not before.

He pushed both objects into Angelina's hand.

A blast of magic struck the corner of the chair and it rocked towards them. Holding his hand up to stop the chair, Montague shoved it back down to its original position.

Over the edge of it he caught sight of the barbeque flaming out of control, black smoke billowing up from it, flames licking hungrily at the metal.

And then there was a man levitated on top of it, the flames eating away at his skin and muscle, the satisfied hissing and crackling sounding from the fire as the man screamed in agony, writhing as his muscles bunched in pain, unable to free himself.

The smell of burning flesh scented the air.

Close by helium balloons popped from the intense heat and occasional stray spell.

The cake that had held pride of place on the buffet table lay cracked on the ground, faint wisps of smoke trailing up from it. The candles had all but burnt to the bottom of their wicks, the reedy tune of 'Happy Birthday' a haunting undertone to the sounds of battle.

Angelina remained silent, staring at him with unseeing eyes. She had Josh in a tight grip and the boy was similarly mute.

Montague tugged Josh's hand away so that he was no longer gripping Angelina's top and placed it on the small silver key as well.

He brought his wand back, ready to knock it against the silver key but hesitated at the last second.

The battle faded away behind them, no longer a part of their world.

He locked eyes with Angelina, held her gaze for but a brief moment in time. Something passed between them, but he didn't know what it was.

"Alex…?" Angelina whispered, suddenly unsure of what was happening.

There was an energy, a feeling pulsing between them, as if it was trying to tell her something. But she didn't know what it was.

A flash of green passed overhead, hitting the hedge behind them.

Another wildly cast spell flew across the lawn but never made its destination to a young child.

Instead it tore a hole in the side of the swimming pool set up for the children; the water spilling out of the plastic lining with a violent rush.

The sudden danger brought Montague out of the haze that had been surrounding him.

Leaning forward, his hand came up of his own violation to cup Angelina's face. He stared at her, unexpectedly desperate to memorize the lines of her face.

There was a chilling scream that cut through the air, once again wrenching Montague back to awareness of the reality surrounding them as a woman's body was contorted unnaturally, her back breaking as she was forced to lean back, her ribs breaking through the skin at the pressure exerted.

He brushed his lips against Angelina's in a brief, chaste kiss.

"Alex…?" Her voice wavering, Angelina fought for control of her emotions.

Why was he affecting her with every emotion but anger and hate when he was the reason for all the death and destruction going on around them?

Why wasn't she mad that he was there with them, and not out fighting?

Swallowing despite his dry mouth, for the second time that day, for the second time in his life, Montague felt stuck for words. In response, he stole another chaste kiss from her. Once all this was over, and she knew everything, he wouldn't be getting any more.

No matter what he did or said or threatened or argued.

But he'd expected this day to come.

Deep, deep down in his heart of hearts he'd known that when that day came she'd walk away from him and never look back.

It was just coming sooner than he'd expected, sooner than he'd hoped. That was all.

Despite everything that had happened between them, he would treasure this day. This was the day that she had been his. Completely.

She had trusted him.

She had allowed him to comfort her.

She had allowed him to look after her.

She'd not given into his demands because she'd felt she had to.

She hadn't come to him in grief, looking for any escape he was able to offer.

She hadn't given into him and come to him because there was something that she'd wanted.

She'd simply to come to him.

She'd felt jealous that another woman was paying attention to him despite his obvious disinterest.

There were many ways he'd tease and annoy her, but he'd never do anything that deliberately cruel.

He glanced skywards, gathering the determination it took for him to do this.

No Dark Mark flew above the house, but it would not be long. The sky was clear and blue, without a cloud in sight to mar it. A branch from the tree sheltering them waved lazily in the breeze while a hot air balloon drifted across the sky.

He glanced down at the pair of them. "Stay safe, Angel," he murmured against her lips.

A swift incantation and a flick of his wand later and the port-key was activated.

A piercing scream echoed, and automatically Angelina looked round in time to see Tamsyn, the woman who'd been flirting with Montague, caught by a Death Eater. One banishing charm later and she was stripped of her clothes and flung face down over a discarded chair.

Uncaring of the fighting going on about them he fumbled with his robe and thrust himself between her legs, breaking her neck as he entered her with a horrific snap and putting an end to her futile struggles and screams.

Forcing her eyes away from the monstrous scene, the last sight Angelina had of Montague was as he stood and turned away from them, from her, a curse flying towards him with a great deal of accuracy and speed behind it.

------------------------

Breathing heavily, a result of adrenaline running through his body rather than fear or any strenuous exercise, Nott crossed the garden that had once belonged to Angelina's parents.

It could still belong to them as far as he was aware.

He doubted it.

The battle was coming to an end; the number of screams were lessening, and becoming quieter, weaker.

There was still the odd curse or hex that went amiss. The majority of Death Eaters within Lord Voldemort's army were little more than blithering imbeciles. There were a few others deranged with madness, the odd one or two spies, and then, then, there was him.

He looked about the general area and made a note of who was where and the garden gate in a process that was as ingrained in him as breathing and blinking.

Nott cast a dispassionate eye over the few survivors. They were as good as dead and probably wished they already were.

Children's bodies littered the garden, some with the remnants of their parents, some alone. The little innocents weren't all intact. It was only possible to tell that some were children by the amount of blood surrounding them, which, was surprisingly, a large amount.

Some had been deliberately deformed, limbs twisted to resemble balloon animals.

At the bottom of the garden a small body floated face down in the water as fish flashed beneath the surface.

Music still drifted from the muggle music player from where it lay turned up on its side. A few of the Death Eaters were controlling the Muggles like puppets and forcing them to dance along in a mocking parody.

There was no sign of Montague, but Nott didn't wonder if he was long gone.

Montague was never one to sacrifice himself for others.

He ducked down to miss an Avada Kedavra and continued on his way.

He narrowly missed slipping as his foot caught in the remains of someone's stomach entrails, the body broken beyond repair and recognition.

Only minutes behind the others, it appeared that he'd missed almost the entirety of the attack.

The Death Eaters had struck lucky today.

Very, very lucky.

It would be a long time before the deeds of today were forgotten by the wizarding world.

Tracking confirmed Order members had been surprisingly effective.

If it hadn't been for Fred Weasley, they would never have found out where Benjamin Johnson had sequestered himself and his family after the death of his beloved wife.

They'd also been fortunate in the added distraction of the birthday party, the arrival of guests and the trouble they'd gone through, to make sure they were entertained, had succeeded in distracting them from the wards protecting their family home.

It had been the perfect opportunity to launch an attack on the Johnson family.

Unfortunately, he'd not been immediately informed of the impending raid.

Called away for a mere half hour, Warrington had been given enough time to rally an attacking party, the Death Eaters already fuelled by the murder of Lucius Malfoy, who'd been discovered dead minutes before he'd had to leave.

Never mind that neither Montague nor Angelina had had anything to do with the senior Malfoy's death. It had been an excuse for Warrington to press his need for an attack on the wizard who'd thwarted and humiliated him when he refused him Angelina.

He hadn't been in his right mind since Montague's attack and being banished.

Not, Nott conceded, that he'd particularly been in his right mind before that attack.

Warrington had always been a psychopathic bastard.

When the news of Lucius Malfoy had reached him less than an hour ago, he'd lost it. And he'd taken along plenty of other Death Eaters eager for a good time.

There had been no finesse to this plan.

There was no beauty in their savagery.

They had not taken the time to get the sanction from their Lord and Master.

There would be consequences.

They would be harsh.

But as far as they were concerned he, Nott, had taken no part in this.

He'd come looking for something specific.

As of yet he'd still not found it.

She was not spread out on the ground around him.

A sound caught his attention.

He didn't know what it was, but there was a feeling he had about it.

He listened again, and heard the same muffled sound.

It led him into the house, and had him pounding up the stairs.

With every footstep, the noises grew louder.

Nott lifted his wand, and prepared to blast down the door in front of him as he reached it. He hesitated at the last moment though. If the wood shattered and splintered it might cause damage to the one he was seeking.

That would not do.

He opened the door, the creak it produced sounding abnormally loud.

Nott stepped into the bathroom and shut the door behind him.

Blood was smeared along the basin, the mirror above it shattered and the cup of toothbrushes knocked to the floor.

Shards of the mirror were covered with blood, the small silver slivers scattered dangerously over the laminate flooring and ingrained in the bath matter.

With each step he took the pieces crunched beneath his black dragon-hide shoes.

She was pressed against the wall in the shower. Black hair plastered to her skin by blood and water.

She was held there by a Death Eater.

The Death Eater would remain nameless, but only until his mask was knocked loose or removed and then he would know who would be stupid enough to dare such a thing. Who could be so oblivious not to notice him in the doorway, ready and waiting to pounce?

She was fighting, her hands, teeth and legs all working, fingers clawing at him wherever she could as she panted desperately trying to inhale air.

Her struggles were ineffective against the Death Eater's larger frame and the outfit he was wearing.

She was holding him off, but only just. As soon as he got a good grip on her hands, it would all be over.

Kat lashed out, trying to bring her right elbow down across her attacker's nose and simultaneously bring her knee up.

The Death Eater anticipated the attack and took a sudden step back.

Without the Death Eater pinning her to the wall, Kat fell forward but wasn't quick enough to wriggle free. She was caught with a hand against her throat and slammed back against the tiled wall. As the back of her head smashed against the mosaic tile pattern, she saw a flash of bright lights dance in front of her eyes leaving her stunned for a moment.

The spots intensified as the hand around her windpipe tightened and cut off her supply of oxygen.

Frantically she tried to bring her leg up between his knees again, but lack of oxygen and the bewilderment she was feeling since her bang on her head only worked against her, making her movements sluggish and weak.

Then suddenly the weighty burden was removed, her attacker collapsing in to the bottom of the white shower tray, blood swirling around him and continuing to disappear in a clockwise motion down the drain.

Pink droplets had collected against the glass shower screen, trailing down the hard material as the spray from the showerhead rushed out.

Kat wavered but by sheer willpower remained standing, her fingers digging into the grouting between the tiles, nails struggling to find purchase there and hold her body up.

Dimly she became aware of the spray of water running down her half clad body, the gurgling of the drain, the pitter patter of droplets as they bounced on to the blood smeared base.

"Well, well, well…" commented a voice she wasn't acquainted.

Wheezing as she breathed in as fast as she could, Kat lifted her heavy head from where it had slumped on her chest. She hadn't realised that there was someone else in the room with her.

She gasped involuntarily and then chocked as her windpipe burnt with pain. Wordlessly her lips formed his name.

"Nott."

She knew him. She'd seen him numerous times when she'd been watching Montague.

This was the first time in the flesh though.

Pursing his lips, Nott took in the sight before him, battered, bruised and bloody. No different from any other women the Death Eaters got their hands on. But there was something different about this one. There was something in her eyes and the way she held herself. She was defeated but there was still something within her that gleamed defiantly.

A nasty smirk came alive on his lips. "Half dressed, wet and covered in blood. Just the way I like 'em."

---------------------------------

Angelina landed, still clinging to Josh in the middle of an empty street, her knees weak, her forehead clammy.

She looked around frantically, not knowing where she was or the possible danger they could be in.

Instead she was standing on a non-descript road in the middle of a non-descript neighbourhood.

The sky was blue, the birds were singing and a fresh breeze smelling of cut grass and hot tarmac rushed down the road towards.

But despite the change in scenery, she still heard the screams that had surrounded her moments before. The underlying smell of dark magic, the bitter aftertaste it left behind was still caught at the back of her throat.

Her fingers curled and she remembered the scrap of paper in her hand that Montague had forced on her.

Forcing her fingers to relaxed, she unrolled the piece of paper with some difficulty. With Josh in her arms and the sudden shakes in her hands, the simple process was far more complicated than she had anticipated.

The small slip of paper trembled in her hand.

It was blank.

Angelina frowned and fought down the rising panic that had welled within. She turned it over, but it made no difference.

As she fiddled with it, writing appeared on its cream-coloured hue.

The thick, black, bold writing was Montague's hand.

As she read it, Angelina mouthed the words in silence: "12 Grimmauld Place."

--------------------------------

How much do you hate me or love me now?!


	25. Chapter 23

A/N: A special thankyou to Nocturngirl for contantly being on my case! Without her my lovely readers, you'd probably still be waiting for this chapter! Thanks to Gemma and Polaris who have been fab as always with help and support!

Another big thankyou to everyone who took the time to review the last chapter as well, I hope you take the time to do so for this chapter too! I love knowing what you think!

--

Chapter 23

--

"They are both sleeping," Madam Pomfrey said as she entered the room, settling her weary bones into the remaining empty seat. "They are both unharmed," she continued, "Although not surprisingly, in a state of shock."

"Thank you Poppy." Dumbledore said gravely. He turned his attention the Order members in attendance. "What news do you have of the casualties?"

Tonks shook her head, tears in her eyes. "All those little kiddies." She choked out.

"All of the death eaters that took part in the raid on the Johnson household had fled before our arrival." Kingsley informed Dumbledore. "There was nothing that we could do but secure the area."

"Severus?" Dumbledore asked, turning his attention to his original spy within Voldemort's ranks and the only one present at the meeting.

"Serious tidings. The attack was lead by Warrington following the murder of Lucicus Malfoy."

A range of gasps flew around the small room, and Molly Weasley took a hurried sip of her tea before setting the cup back into it's saucer with a clatter.

"We do not, at this moment in time, know who is responsible for his death. Warrington lead the attack on the Johnson family under the name of revenge. It is also among my suspicions that he was also searching for Miss Johnson who managed to escape. It has not passed my attention that talk within the court signals that he is obsessed with the witch."

"Were any of the Death Eaters taking part in the attack injured?"

Snape shook his head at Dumbledore's question. "No. All I can tell you is this; Warrington disappeared during the attack, and presumable Montague with him." He locked eyes with Dumbledore. "Nott too is missing and I have been unable to contact him. However," he said with a brief pause. "He was one of the Death Eaters that took part in the hit on the Johnson household. It also behoves me to mention that Miss Johnson's sister, Kat, is also missing. I have been unsuccessful in attempting to secure her location."

"Montague is missing?" Poppy said aloud.

Biting back a sneer, Snape nodded.

Biting her lip, the healer cast a fearful look in Dumbldore's direction. "In that case," she began, "I feel that I rather ought to mention that I do not imagine that we will be seeing him for some time."

"But Angelina is here." George Weasley pointed out. "She holds his family's mark. He won't leave her here with us."

"But that is just the thing." Poppy responded. "Although at present Miss Johnson is in possession of both the Montague Family Crest and the traditional necklace, in her hand she was carrying instructions on how to remove them.

I did not understand where she'd gotten them from at first, but she told me Montague had given them to her. The piece of paper had originally been blank, upon her arrival here with her nephew, the house name appeared which is why she was able to find us.

Once she was inside, the writing on the scrap of parchment changed again, this time giving detailed instructions of what needs to be done to remove the mark and the necklace."

"Well that is good news at least." Molly commented. "She'll no longer be in that dreadful wizards clutches. I know that there is no love left between us," she continued, "after the awful way she treated my Fred, but I wouldn't wish that man on anyone."

"Have you started the process Poppy?" Dumbledore asked.

"Well, that's just the thing." Poppy started uncertainty.

"What is?"

"Well, she won't let me."

"What do you mean she won't let you?" George sputtered.

Snape refrained from rolling his eyes, but shot a deadly look in the younger twins direction. "What do you think she means Weasley? Miss Johnson will not allow Poppy to remove either the necklace or the mark from her.

Montague is still alive, in what state I know not, but he is still alive."

"You don't know that!" Tonks interrupted speaking for the first time since she broke down tears at the beginning of the meeting.

"If Montague was dead," Snape hissed his voice dropping dangerously, "The necklace and the mark would have come off. They haven't. This means he is still alive."

"Do you need her consent to remove the mark and the necklace Poppy?" Minerva questioned. "The poor girl probably isn't in her right mind after seeing that horrendous attack on her family."

The healer nodded. "Yes, I'm afraid so."

"Well, surely there is a potion of sorts that you could give her, just for the period of time needed for the mark and necklace to be removed?"

Poppy shook her head. "Unfortunately it doesn't work that way. If, even subconsciously, she does not want the mark and necklace removed it won't be possible.

This magic is so advanced that no potions or any other spell work can corrupt it."

"Well, maybe she really does what them removing but doesn't realise it." Suggested George somewhat optimistically.

"She is adamant that that is not the case." Poppy said helplessly. "I rather fear that she has bonded with him."

Molly Weasley scoffed unsympathetically. "We already know that!"

"Not magically!" Madam Pomfrey snapped sorely lacking patience. "Emotionally. There have been cases reported where a hostage bonds with their captor, that they identify with them because they have been there throughout the suffering, be that physical, emotional, or mental.

To me it seems that with regards to Miss Johnson, Montague has essentially become her centre as such. A constant through all the trials and uncertainties that she has faced being dragged into his world and lifestyle.

At the moment, more so because he is not present, the necklace and the mark that he has given her represent links to him. A reason that he will return. To remove them would be to cut her ties from him, she would be lost.

It is rather similar I believe, to a Muggle condition known as the Swedish Syndrome. It originated from that country I believe."

"You can't mean that?" George whispered, horrified at the thought of Angelina refusing to escape from Montague's clutches.

Kingsley Shaklebolt shook his head in disbelief knowing it was possible but not wanting to believe it.

"What reason's reasons does Angelina give?" Questioned Professor McGonagall.

"She is adamant that Montague is alive, and that if she removes the mark that the protection that is offered to him with it will stop." Poppy relied.

As if in unison all heads turned towards Professor Snape, the one person with undisputed knowledge when it came to the dark minds of his Slytherin students and magic's that their families employed.

"That could very well be true." He admitted. "I cannot go into too greater detail over the intricacies of various forms of protection that were woven into the spells, such secrets would be known to the family only, but it is common knowledge that certain safety aspects were taken into consideration for the husbands preservation."

"I wonder if Hermione would be able to tell us anything more," George commented.

Snape sneered at his old student disdainfully. "I doubt it, but then Miss Granger always did have an answer for everything."

"Where is Hermione?" Poppy asked noticing her absence for the first time that evening.

"With Harry and Ron," Molly told her, as she waved her hand dismissively. "Doing something."

"I will speak with Miss Johnson, and see if we can come to some agreement about removing the mark and the necklace." Dumbledore said resolutely. "I am sure that once the situation is explained to her she shall offer no more objections."

"Indeed? I regret to inform you that _mia cugina_ will not be with you long enough for the conversation to take place, or offer any _obiezione_." A voice sounded from the doorway way.

In unison the entire order Order turned to face the intruder that had coolly entered the room without as much as a by your leave.

Standing before them was a tall dark haired wizard with deeply tanned skin that proclaimed his Italian heritage.

"I have come to collect her, you see?" Luca Montague continued, "_Mia cugina _should be with _famiglia _during these difficult times. Your assistance with her care," he sneered stressing the latter word, "Is no longer required. We shall be leaving directly as soon as she has woken."

"You are not Miss Johnson's cousin!" Professor McGonagall exclaimed. "Her entire family has just been killed you insufferable wizard!"

"Angelina," Luca replied, dark eyes flashing at the insult, "Is married to the head of the Montague _Famiglia_ in England."

Unsuspecting of the danger lurking behind the cool façade on Luca Montague's face, George Weasley shot up, knocking his chair back as he did so. "No she's bloody well not! And she ain't going anywhere with the likes of you either!"

At this point Dumbledore stepped in, clearing his throat and trying to gain control of the escalating situation.

"There is no marriage certificate confirming that statement." He said, blue eyes dark and lacking their customary twinkle.

Luca shrugged unconcerned. "She bears the _famiglia _mark and wears the emerald necklace bonding her to _mio cugion, _I do not care about a scrap of parchment confirming what has already taken place."

"I'm sure you don't!" Molly snapped. "I read all about the scandal of your wife!"

Luca's attention shifted from Dumbledore to Molly Weasley with startling intensity. There was an unholy light burning in his eyes that was always more pronounced when someone mentioned his wife.

"I do not need to defend my actions or decisions to anyone," he drawled icily, eyes snapping, "least of all you."

Molly opened her mouth, intimidated, but still defiant.

Luca continued before she was able to say anything. "Talk about my wife again, and the next time you go to sleep you won't wake up." He threatened.

"Montague," Dumbledore remonstrated softly trying to cool the blood of the hot blooded Italian without causing offence which could lead to further difficulties. "I can assure you, that Miss Johnson and her nephew are receiving our every attention and that their safety is a major priority here for everyone concerned.

I do not feel that removing her from everything that is familiar, from everyone that she knows who will be able to provide the most comfort to her in these troublesome times is in her best interests."

_--_

Sleepily, the warmth along her back registered with Angelina and she lay there drowsily, sadness pervading her body at the loss of family in a way that felt almost physical it hurt so badly.

She took a deep breathe and felt the arm about her waist slip slightly.

Eyes closed, Angelina stretched and tried to work out the stiffness in her muscles.

The sleeping potion that had been administered to her still clouded her brain but she could feel her body fighting against it, trying. Trying to tell her something.

The arm about her waist wasn't holding her as tight as it usually did.

There wasn't a leg thrown over her own, all but pinning her to the mattress.

The body next to her wasn't half atop her own, ensuring that she couldn't leave, couldn't move without alerting him.

Had Alex been hurt? She wondered. The last sight she'd had of the wizard was with a curse hurtling towards him. Slowly, her beating heart calmed. If he was asleep next to her, he couldn't have been injured that badly if at all.

Turning around in Montague's embrace to face him, Angelina wrapped an arm about his waist and wiggled closer to him, tucking her head up beneath his chin in the process.

Drifting off to sleep again, something within Angelina paused.

He didn't smell like he usually did.

"Alex?" She murmured, just to make sure.

"Don't worry love, it it's me. I won't let him get you again."

Twisting out of his embrace, Angelina snatched up her wand on the bedside table and crossed the other side of the room.

"What do you think you're doing?" She screamed at Fred.

Rapidly waking up, Fred held his hands up in a calming gesture. "It's ok Angelina, it's just me love. Everything's ok."

"What are you doing in my room?" Angelina shouted at him ignoring his attempt to pacify her. "What gives you the bloody right to climb into my bed and tell me it's all right?"

"Just calm down love." He said, standing and moving towards her. "If only I'd known, why didn't you tell me?" He asked painfully. "Why? If you'd told me I wouldn't have touched her, I swear I wouldn't have. I was just getting scared, about the wedding and how fast we were growing up. I'm sorry, love. You have no idea how sorry I am. But we can try again now. I'll take such good care of you."

"Don't touch me." Angelina shrieked at him as she evaded his hands, forgetting about the wand in her hand. "Get off me! Don't touch me! Don't touch me!"

There was a heavy pounding on the stairs and then the door burst open, the Order members alerted to the commotion from downstairs.

"Fred! What are you doing up here?" Molly Weasley gasped in surprise.

"Is everything alright?" Tonks asked, banging into the chest of drawers as she entered the room.

"Yes." A dark haired man sneered. "I can see that you are taking excellent care of my family by allowing strange wizards to molest Montague's wife while she is asleep in her room." He flicked his wand and Fred was physically lifted and slammed into the wall behind him, held there by an invisible force. His hands scratched his throat as an invisible force crushed his windpipe and cut of his air supply.

Fred's face began to colour and still he wasn't released.

"Montague." Kinglsey Shaklebolt snapped entering the room. "Put him down."

Luca Montague's eyes slid across to the auror. "No." He said calmly. The magic holding Fred to the wall was deliberately dropped, but before he could crash into the floor he was being slammed into the opposite wall, the pressure on his throat never disappearing.

Blood started seeping through the crotch of the cream coloured trousers he was wearing.

"Fred!" Molly exclaimed with a strangled shriek at the sight of the blood and a second later her son was thrown out of the room, along with all of the intruders that had come to investigate the shouting they had heard.

The door slammed shut behind them.

Angelina watched in wide eyed silence as the wizard known as Luca Montague turned towards her, focusing his full attention on her for the first time since he'd entered her bedroom.

She recognised his name from the family tree in the library., She knew that he was Montague's cousin and the head of the Montague family in Italy but she'd never seen any pictures of him, no portraits either.

"Forgive me, _mia cugina _. I had no wish for you to have to be witness to such a scene. It was unfortunate that circumstances dictated such actions. I would have preferred for our first meeting to be somewhat more civilized." He said smoothly.

Angelina said nothing, instead she simply stared at the older wizard.

His speech had a perfect accent, and she would have thought that it was due to a translating spell had it not been for the spattering of Italian phrases which told her that he'd leant learnt the English language and was especially adept at it.

He looked to be about the same height as Alex, but he was heavier with broader shoulders than Montague's leaner frame and had darkly tanned skin thanks to the hot Italiann sun. They both had the same thick black hair but Luca's had a slight curl to it and he had dark brown eyes.

Dark, impeccably tailored wizarding robes draped his body.

She couldn't recall his date of birth that had been embroidered onto the tapestry, but he looked to be around his late twenties or early thirties.

There was a sense of containment about him that she didn't pick up from Alex, which caught her unawares, a ridged control over his emotions which was at odds with his violent outburst.

Instinctively she knew that he didn't play around like Alex did. At Kingsley's command Alex wouldn't have released Fred any more than Luca had done, but he would have make some smart remark unlike Luca's blunt 'no.'

"_Mio cugion_ has told us much about you. The _famiglia_ is very upset to hear your tragic loss, rest assured the attack made will be repaid three fold."

The mention of her parents, of her friends and family that had died in a death eater attack because of her, because of Montague brought tears to her eyes.

Lips trembling, Angelina sucked in a deep breath and tried to blink away the tears.

"What are you doing here?" She asked.

"I gave _mio cugion _my word of honour that if anything were to happen, that the _famiglia_ would look after you. Unfortunately, the time has come where I must keep that promise though it is with a heavy heart that I do so."

The wizard, Luca Montague crossed the room towards her and reached out to take her hands in his own.

"My wife has insisted that I take you to her, so that you may begin to heal and recover in peace and protection. We will be leaving as soon as you have had time to change from your night clothes and collect your nephew, Alex was very fond of the child."

--

Luca's wife was nothing like Angelina had expected.

She had expected a woman of the same age, to have with the icy coolness that characterised so many of the pureblood wealthy woman, and that she would be perfectly turned out at all times.

She was neatly turned out, dressed in the finest fabric's and the best designer clothes with not a hair out of place.

And although she was quiet and polite upon their first meeting, the reserve melted away once they got to know one another, and Angelina later put this down to shyness, not out of misplaced superiority.

But, she was young.

Very young.

It shouldn't have shocked her as much as it did, after all, everyone read about such things in the papers and the magazines, and who was she to judge? But she couldn't help but wonder how such a girl became involved with Luca and ended up marrying him. And a girl was what she appeared to be at times, a beautiful, innocent child despite the fact that she was married with a son of her own.

The subject hadn't come up yet in conversation and Angelina was too well mannered to ask her host such a question.

After all, it had nothing to do with her.

She Angelina couldn't help but notice though, that not all was not right between the pair of them.

There were no displays of affection, but that was hardly unusual, after all many pureblood marriages were purely for convenience and nothing else.

But something was just off.

Something that she couldn't quite put her finger on.

Luca watched his wife nearly all the time, his eyes drinking in the sight of her hungrily. Even if he was in conversation with someone at the opposite side of the room, his eyes would often drift across to rest on her for moment.

As far as Angelina could see though, there was no softness on Luciana's side, although she could hardly call Luca's obsession with his wife affection or softness.

The reserve that Luciana had first displayed when they had met for the first time always arose around her husband, her body and expressions always became stiff and tense, manners beyond criticism and rigidly correct.

But over the months they'd spent today, Angelina had learnt that the younger woman was patient, sweet natured and gentle., She was a total atheist to her husband, who might have a silver tongue but possessed a deadly hardness and a dangerous temper.

The pair of witches sat out in the back gardens beneath the shade of a large tree watching Josh and Dante play further on down the garden.

Two years his junior the young Montague boy had taken a shine to Josh, and followed him around constantly and Josh, despite his lack of practice around younger children or siblings displayed a great deal of patience.

Her nephew was doing well after the horrific attack on his parents, there were days when he was difficult at times, evenings during which he still had nightmares, but Angelina was truly surprised at how well he was coping.

He didn't speak about the attack, or about his parents' deaths but she hadn't pushed the subject as of yet. Luciana was in agreement that he would talk about it when he was ready and not before. The most she could do at the moment was be patient when he was difficult and help him through the night terrors.

For her, the entire ordeal still felt surreal, even though Montague had been missing for several months now and the feeling was only heightened by the discovery that he had actually been working for the Order of Phoenix during their time together.

Did they not know what he threatened her with?

Where he took her?

What she was forced to do?

How she was forced to degrade herself in the mistaken belief that her family would be murdered if she did not submit to his demands?

She was unsure whether they were aware of the circumstances.

A part of her, the Angelina that she was before she became involved with Montague believed that they couldn't possibly know, that they wouldn't allow such a thing to go on underneath their nose. After all, they were the good guys right?

But then, the cynical and jaded part of her knew that nothing was ever as it seemed, that if Montague was working in conjunction with the Order to help defeat Voldemort and his minions while she truly believed that he stood for everything the Dark Lord promoted, then there was always the chance that the Light Side, the Order, were was willing to make sacrifices. And that she could have well been one of them.

Despite those doubts though, she still wore the necklace around her neck. She still had the tattoo engraved on her skin. The thought of taking them off had only briefly entered her mind before being immediately discarded.

If and when anything happened to Montague she wanted to know, and she needed to confront him about what had happened, about his motives, about why he had chosen her.

When the time came that he wanted to remove the marks of his possession from her he would have to find her and then she would get her answers.

Angelina sighed, sitting back in the chair and letting the sun soak into her skin.

Lazily she took a sip of the ice cold lemonade served in large glasses set out on the table, the icy cubes chinking against the glass, condensation running down it's side.

A warm breeze drifted past them; the heavy air scented with citrus fruits, which grew in the valleys below.

The Italian estate was beautiful, a large, airy, rambling house, which sprawled out across the top of the hill. Stretched out in front of the house there were multiple valleys and groves among which various citrus fruits were grown as they had been for the past centuries.

Towards the back of the house ran the private gardens, encased by high walls to ensure the safety and privacy of the family. Lush green lawns were interrupted by large fountains and wizard made ponds, which housed various lilies and tropical fish.

Scattered trees provided shading out of the hot sun. An assortment of pathways interlinked throughout the garden, some providing more privacy than others if one was so inclined.

"Signora Montague." The quiet greeting startled Angelina, the peaceful silence shared with Luciana broken by the intrusion of a gentleman that she did not know.

"Signor Romano." Luciana said coolly in a manner that Angelina had never heard her speak to a caller with before. "My husband is not at home at the moment. You will need to call back at another time when he is."

Luciana reached for her wand and flicked it before another word could escape from the wizardswizard's mouth. Instantaneously a house elf appeared before it's mistress and bowed lowly. "Show Signor Romano to the door."

The wizard who appeared to be in his mid thirties inclined his head, "Signora Montague," he murmured in parting before stepping away and following the house elf across the lawns and into the house.

Angelina's eyes followed the wizard until he was out of sight and then she turned back to Luciana, stunned by her reaction to the wizard that she obviously knew.

So far she had never seen the younger witch act in a manner that was anything less than graciousness and consideration with any of the guests that came calling for any number of reasons.

Luciana smiled weakly back at her, her tanned skin looking decidedly pale.

Had something happened between the pair of them?

Was there a history to their relationship that she didn't know about?

From what she had seen of Luciana's relationship with Luca it was hardly a love match.

Luciana stared at her steadily for a moment before speaking. "No one had told you have they?"

Angelina frowned in confusion. "Told me what?"

Brushing back several dark curls from in front of her face, Luciana said, "About Luca and I."

Shaking her head in mystification, Angelina's eyes widened as Luciana cursed fluently in Italian and threw her hands up into the air. "The men in this family tell the women nothing! You know the story of Alexander and his Mother, yes?"

Once again Angelina shook her head.

Luciana scowled, her cherub like face creasing in anger as she cursed again. Her dark eyes flickered across to the children playing below them.

Lips pursed in annoyance at the male members of the Montague family, Luciana took a sip of her drink and wiped her wet hands on a napkin.

"You know something though, don't you, about Montague and his mother."

"I know that he was responsible for killing her. Nothing more though, not the reasons for it, the ins and outs of it." Angelina replied gravely.

"Well I shall tell you then," Luciana stated.

"As you may or may not know, after the death of her husband, Lavinia, Alexander's mother took many lovers.

As you can imagine, Alexander did not exactly approve of her behaviour and tried to curtail it as best as he could. Not only that, but I understand that the English estates were in grave financial difficulties. I do not know how bad the situation was, Luca never offered advice, and Alexander never asked for it, but I am led to believe that all was not well with Alexander.

Several years ago, Danilo Montague, Luca's father, passed away. He left three sons and one daughter. Luca, Domenico who was the middle brother, Fedele the youngest brother and Catanthe who you have not yet met. She was recently married and is currently still away on her wedding trip.

By law, all property and possessions are passed to the eldest child. A subsidiary may be made to any other children, but the father must specify how much. The will of Danilo's father enforced certain conditions, this meant that when Danilo inherited he would only be allowed to pass a certain percentage of holdings to any other children that he fathered, bar his heir, that he fathered.

This is a way to ensure that the wealth of the Montague family did not weaken and become divided."

Angelina nodded, understanding the history lesson that Luciana was giving, but as of yet, unable to comprehend the relevance of it.

"Domenico was made unhappy by this. I believe that there had always been rivalry between the two elder brothers, but the last will and testament left behind by Danilo caused too much bad blood between them.

Knowing the weakened position of Alexander, and the extravagancies of Lavinia, along with her hate for her son, he, I do not want to say seduced, because that implies that she was unaware, or was at least initially against betraying her son, but he succeeded in encouraging progressing her attack from excessive spending habits for needless items and a string of public and indecent affairs to attacks of a more serious nature.

I do not know all of the particulars, but I am aware that between the two of them they hatched a plot to kill Alexander, and in his body supplant Domenico's soul and magic so that as far as anyone else was concerned Alexander was still alive and it was Domenico who was dead.

Essentially it would have solved both their problems, Domenico would have been head of his own family, albeit one that needed drastic financial recovery and Lavinia would have had revenge on her son, the reason that she had been forced into the Montague family. While that may have been her initial plan, the realities of being part of such a family, with such a man for a husband soon outweighed any benefits that she might have had. Everyone knew the reason why she had married into the family."

Angelina nodded, thinking back to her conversation with Athalie that seemed to have taken place over a life timelifetime ago when in actual fact it had only been a few mere months.

"Alexander, he found out about this nefarious plan. Domenico was of the Italian family, as a traitor Alexander was obliged to call in on Luca to deal with him.

When it became known to Domenica and Lavina that both Luca and Alexander knew of their plan, they went into hiding.

The place they chose happened to be my village."

Luciana smiled sadly at her. "I was not always this way. I was engaged to be married when Luca saw me. To a local fisherman that I'd grown up with as a child, named Tomas." Absently her finger reached out and traced a drop of condensation on her glass.

"I was seventeen." She said glancing up to catch Angelina's eye.

"Your father did not protest?" Angelina asked incredulously imagining what her own fathers reaction would have been if a man in his late twenties had appeared and demanded his teenage daughter as his wife.

Luciana shrugged. "My father was a simple man," she explained. "For him it was a simple problem. Luca was powerful, and he wanted me. Tomas was not, and I had a younger sister that would do for him."

Angelina swallowed and tried to imagine being seventeen and married to a man like Luca.

This time when Luciana smiled, it was a derisive mocking smile, aimed at herself, her own stupidity. "I was young, naive. I did not wish to marry him; I did not wish to leave my family, my home, my Tomas. Not that he was mine any longer at that point. But there was nothing I could do, by wizarding law I was my fathers property, and as such he could do with me as he saw fit.

I was unhappy with his choice, but…" Luciana shrugged helplessly, "Perhaps, I thought, that I could at least become friends with my husband. That I could learn to love him. I was silly enough to tell him that I would try."

Instinctively Angelina knew the conversation had gone badly. "And?" She breathed out unable to hold the question back.

"He laughed." Luciana replied simply, glancing away to the children still playing in the sunshine. "He wanted my face, and my body. As far as he was concerned, as I was now his wife; he had it. I belonged to him. He did not want anything else from me."

Luciana glanced back at Angelina with unshed tears in her eyes, the first sign of defeat she had displayed when it came to talking about her husband. "Sometimes I hate him so." She whispered brokenly. "Sometimes I wish that he would beat me, betray me, give me some reason for feeling this way other than marrying me and deciding what is best for me."

Seeing the look on Angelina's face, Luciana correctly interpreted it. "He does not keep a mistress. To Luca it signifies weakness. That he has made the incorrect choice in a wife, that his family is not strong and united. But this family," Luciana said gesturing with her hand towards the house and the valleys below, "This family is more demanding than any witch of flesh and blood could be."

"I feel guilty for bemoaning my situation. There are many witches out there that have far greater problems than me."

"Have you tried to talk about it with him?" Angelina enquired. "Explain what you need from him?"

"Even you Angelina, must have noticed that one does not discuss things with Luca. This is his world, his domain. His word is law."

"But surely…"

Luciana shook her head. "No, your Alexander, he is a different man from Luca. Similar at times, but different all the same. I have not made the mistake of bringing up such a subject since, and I will not make the mistake of bringing it up again."

The Italian woman shrugged as if to dismiss the issue, but Angelina could tell that the subject was still a difficult one.

"I am fortunate though. I have Dante to love, and now you and Joshua are family so I will have another two whole people to love. It will be enough." She whispered quietly. Her eyes settled on her dark haired son, and Angelina also turned her attention to the pair of boys.

She seen the love that Luciana had for her little boy, she'd seen their relationship and the way she doted on him, their relationship. "Will you not have any more?" She asked. While it was customary for most purebloods to have one child as heir, with the decreasing numbers of purebloods more and more families were trying for other children after the birth of their first.

"No." Luciana said softly, her eyes still glued to Dante. "When I was pregnant…there were…complications. The healers have said that I may have many, many more children…but Luca…" she sighed. "He says no…so I shall have no more."

Angelina gulped at the cold lemonade, stuck for words to say.

"No more babies. No wizards at the house when he is not home. No trips off the estate without him. No clothes that he does not approve. No guests to be invited to dinner that he does not ask. No! No! No! Always no!"

"That is why…?" Angelina trailed off referring to the fast dismissal of the wizard who had visited earlier.

Luciana nodded. "Yes. Luca will be very, very angry." A shiver tore through her body. "Not even his own brother is allowed to visit when he is not home."

"But why?" Angelina asked in a state of astonishment.

"Why do you think?" Luciana replied sardonically.

"But surely…but surely you have the mark? And the necklace?" Angelina said. As fanatical as Alex had been about the tattoo and the necklace, she could hardly imagine Luca not enforcing it on Luciana. At Luciana's nod confirming that she did indeed have the magical bonds in place linking her to her husband, Angelina then said, "But I thought that the mark and the necklace meant that you can't betray him with another man?"

"They do." Luciana agreed bluntly. She unclasped the gold bracelets about her wrists and dropped then onto the table and then held up her arms for Angelina to study. "As you can see," she announced referring to the additional tattoo's encircling her wrists, "It does not seem to make any difference to my husband."

"Why?"

Luciana shrugged. "He is mad perhaps? Maybe too much sun has boiled his blood? I do not know. As you say, I can hardly do anything. Maybe he is jealous that I will betray him with my heart if I can't betray him with my body."

"How do you know all of this?" Angelina asked.

Snorting in amusement and distaindisdain, Luciana replied, "My husband thinks that just because he does not see or pay attention to the servants that they do not pay attention to him. What I need to know, I get from them."

"Where do you think Alex is?" Angelina asked tentatively, for the first time asking the question that had been tormenting her mind since he'd forced her to leave for safety without him.

Luciana leant over and patted her (knee?) in a gesture that was far older than her appearance. "Do not fret. Your Alexander is a resourceful wizard. All will be well," she transpired confidently.

--

Montague heaved a sigh, in an uncharacteristic sign of weakness, and slumped into one of the seats.

It did not seem possible that it had been several months ago now that he had last held Angelina in his arms. That she had confessed about one of the biggest secrets she held in her heart and soul, the admittance that she had once been pregnant by Fred Weasley and had lost the baby a little while after she found out that he had been fucking that mudblood Granger behind her back.

As much as it pained him to see Angelina distraught over the miscarriage and her fears about the reasons behind it, that the child had known that she did not want it at times, a small, dark piece of him rejoiced in it.

It whispered insistently at the back of mind, and would not go away completely despite how much he tried.

That soulless part of him was glad, and he couldn't ignore it completely.

The seed of Fred Weasley wasn't worthy enough to grow inside of Angelina's womb, never mind the fact that the child growing inside of her was partly her flesh and blood as well.

When the time came for him to get his heir upon her, his seed would grow inside of her, and his child wouldn't leave her belly until it's nine months were up and he came squalling into the world. Montague's were fighters. They were survivors from the time of their conception to the day their souls flew from their bodies and left the earthly plane.

Frowning, he picked at the crusted blood beneath his fingernails, as he listened to a sudden outburst in screams echoing about the building originating from next door.

His eyes slid shut slowly, how long had it been since he'd last got a good nights sleep?

Merlin, how long had it been since he'd slept at all?

Exhaustion streaked through his body, but now was not the time to listen to it's demands he told himself even as his eyes closed.

The door jerked open with a bang, and Nott appeared in the doorway in a similarly dishevelled state.

Snapping his eyes open, Montague remained in his sprawled position in the chair and looked at the younger wizard with questioning eyes.

Nodding his head silently in the direction he had come from, Nott turned and disappeared back into the bleak little room from which a flurry of whimpers could be heard.

Hauling himself to his feet, Montague cast a few cleaning spells to remove the blood crusted under his fingernails and against his skin, along with the dried sweat he'd worked up over time and to remove the dirt from his robes.

He'd come to the opinion that prisoners were far more intimidated when he arrived impeccably dressed and presentableed rather than when he turned up covered in blood and looking like he'd been trampled by several Hippogriffs.

Forcing his body into action, he strode into the darkened room with a sense of purpose.

Coming to a halt by Nott, he started down at the pitiful figure bound to the chair, covered in Merlin knew what, and trembling so badly that the chair was vibrating.

"What are we going to do with her?" He asked dispassionately, while starting down at Kat. who She looked up at him with wide eyes.

A coarse chuckle left Nott's chest. "I can think of a few things."

Beneath the gag, Kat screamed.

--

Breathing deeply, Luciana swallowed and closed her eyes momentarily in an effort to prepare herself and calm her nerves.

Knowing she could not put the moment off any longer, she lifted her hand and knocked on the door to her husbands study.

There was no answer, but she remained where she was.

She had not been bidden to enter, but she certainly had not been dismissed.

That was a mistake she had made once, and it was never going to happen again.

A few minutes passed, and then she heard Luca's voice giving permission that she could enter his domain.

Her palms were sweaty, slipping on the metal doorknob once before she was able to open it.

Stepping into the room that he husband spent more time in that any other in the entire house, including his bedroom, Luciana closed the door behind her as quietly as possible.

Luca was still sitting behind the ornate desk, not bothering to rise and greet her as good manners and breeding dictated he should. Instead his eyes remained attached to several rolls of parchment as he continued to read the letters of business, occasionally making the odd note.

Steeling herself, Luciana walked towards the desk, and came to a stop in front of it silently waiting for his attention to transfer across to her. Willing it to happen so that she could leave as soon as he'd heard what he wanted to, and dreading it at the same time.

Eventually after what seemed an eternity, but was in fact, if the clock on the mantelpiece was any indication, was only a few minutes, Luca lifted her eyes to hers and set down the roll of parchment he'd been studying.

"Did she believe you?" Luca asked with his customary bluntness referring to the lies he'd instructed that she feed Angelina.

Bitterness rose within her, but Luciana nodded. "Yes." As much as she hated lying to the woman that was her cousin, she'd not had any choice in the matter.

Her reward for her obedience was the continued company of her son.

"My neck aches." Luca commented abruptly.

For anyone not used to him, the change in conversation direction would have seemed odd.

But Luciana knew that he hadn't finished. That his comment, wasn't a comment, it was a command. The same as the admission wasn't an admission of weakness, of being human but his way of telling her what he wanted, but without having to come out and say it.

Maybe he fooled himself into believing, that because he hadn't asked, or told her to do anything, when she wordlessly walked around behind his desk to rub his shoulders that she was doing it out of wifely compassion and duty.

That she had taken the initiative to help ease him.

As her fingers worked, Luca twisted his neck from side to side and rolled his shoulders despite the fact there was no tension spread across the muscles.

"It is very important that she believes you." He said softly. "Do you remember what I told you, my wife?"

"Yes." Luciana all but whispered. If Angelina remained in love with Alexander, if she waited for him diligently, despite not knowing where he was, or what he was doing, if she accepted him back into her arms when he returned to her, Luca had promised her another child.

Not that she was sure she believed him.

He could easily change his mind, or find some other transgression that she had completed as a way to withdraw his offer.

Not that she was sure it was a good idea anyway; no matter how desperate she was for another child. Someone else to love and dote on.

It was strange, she'd come from a large family with numerous siblings, and while the Montague family held the same views of family loyalty as her own had done, there was fewer of them, and they weren't given to trusting easily.

She didn't think she'd ever had a private conversation with her sister in law, or spent the day relaxing with her or shopping as she had done with Angelina.

And that made her betrayal to Angelina hurt all the more.

Alexander did care for the witch, and that lessened the impact of her betrayal. In way she felt as though she was doing it for the best. No one would love and care for Angelina the same as Alexander would. He would do anything to ensure that the witch was safe and happy, even if the ways he went about it weren't all that moral.

Angelina could trust him.

She couldn't say the same for her own husband.

She wasn't his first wife.

She was his second.

Her father had been a relatively peaceful wizard, or spinless depending on how one looked at it. Luciana had certainly heard him being called the latter and worse when he'd made the decision to remain neutral in the war that was currently taking place within the wizard world.

Unfortunately he was not strong enough to maintain that position, he didn't have enough influence or money, and as a result the family had been captured and presented to Voldemort.

Luca's wife had been alive at that point in time, their marriage an arranged one that had existed since childhood.

His wife had not committed any crimes, except for marrying him as per her family's orders.

He'd killed Charis, his wife, for no other reason that she was in the way.

At that point in time, Luciana had thought that she would be safe enough from him at any rate. It might not protect her from the others, but at least it was one less to worry about.

Family honour within the Montague clan prevented any of the wizards from taking a mistress or showing desire, even in the form of rape, for another woman.

How shocked she's been in finding out that he'd deliberately murdered his wife so he could marry her the following day before the announcement of Charis' death had been made public.

She didn't know how Luca had done it, although she suspected that he had paid off the coroner to put her death down to natural causes.

Luca hadn't even bothered going to the funeral.

Instead he'd spent the day in pursuit of his heir, and as Dante was proof, he'd been successful. A Montague always got what they wanted.

If he was willing to kill Charis for no other reason than she was his wife and curtailed his freedom, how could she believe that she might not meet the same end one day?

What if another witch happened to catch his eye, and he decided that he'd rather have her than his wife?

It had happened before, it could very well happen again.

She didn't want to die.

Not yet at any rate.

Maybe in a few years; who knew how she'd feel then.

If she had another child, a daughter as she desperately longer for, who was to say that Luca wouldn't marry her off to some wizard against her will?

That he wouldn't use the child against her as he was doing with Dante at this very moment in time?

Why was she asking such silly questions when she knew the answers only too well?

Of course he would!

An innocent child shouldn't have to pay for her selfishness.

She had to remember that.

"Good." Luca responded to his wife's answer that she'd lied to Angelina. His hand came up to settle over one of hers, stopping the movement that he had previously invited.

Lifting Luciana's hand from his body he pulled her round in front of him, pushing back his chair as he did so. Tugging her down into his lap, Luca cupped her face, his thumb skimming along her cheek and along her jaw. His eyes traced her features in time with his hand, "So beautiful." He murmured to himself.

Luciana kept still, the words inciting no warmth or pleasure within her. Luca had the habit of admiring her as though she was a new possession, not for who she was.

She tucked her head against his chest and closed her eyes, pretending for a moment that he was someone else, anyone else as long as they loved her. As long as they cared for her.

His fingers picked at the thin shoulder strap of white cotton summer dress she was wearing.

As it was brushed down over the top part of her arm she felt Luca nuzzle the exposed skin, his lips brushing along her throat as his hand cup her breast over the cotton material.

Luciana could feel his erection pressing against her bottom and the young witch knew what would be coming soon.

His hand trailed down her body, along her leg to the hemline of her skirt and crept beneath it. Her husbands hand retraced it's journey back up her body, only this time there was no barrier between her flesh and his hand.

Strong, capable fingers kneaded at her thigh.

A pair of lips brushed against her ear lobe, "Do you know what I want?"

Licking her lips nervously, Luciana nodded and whispered, "Yes."

Her body slithered out of her husbands lap of it's own accord and knelt on the floor between his legs.

Her hands reached for the tie of his wizarding robes, which she unfastened and parted. Next she reached for the belt buckle, damp hands slipping awkwardly on the fine leather as she unfastened it, conscious of the perceptive eagle eyes belonging to Luca as he watched her every move.

He made no move to help or assist her in any way. He just watched as she made clumsy work of the waist button and zip while he threaded his hands into the dark mass of hair piled upon her head.

Without hesitating, Luciana took him deep into her mouth as he'd taught her, knowing exactly what her husband liked and knowing that he wasn't a patient wizard.

Her senses had barely registered the taste of him upon her tongue when there was knock at the study door.

She knew what came next too.

Fingers that had been clenched tightly within her hair suddenly loosened their grip and were removed.

She was ready when he motioned with his hand for her to release him, and Luciana obediently did so and stood before him, watching without expression as he tucked his erection back into his black slacks and buttoned himself back up.

Suddenly he was all business again.

"Did she have any idea about the death of Lavinia Montague?"

Luciana shook her head in response. "No. I did as you said. She had no idea that Lavinia's death was Alexander's initiation into Voldemorts ranks."

A crude snort of laughter erupted from Luca. "We can only be thankful Voldemort did not demand that Alex rape his mother before he had to kill her. That would have been far too Oedipal for even me."

Luciana remained silent, the memories of that night were burnt into her mind for the rest of eternity. The night that Alexander had murdered his mother had been the same night that her family had been brought before the Dark Lord, all of them massacred except for her because she'd caught Luca Montague's eye.

Luca fixed his attention back at the paperwork on the desk, without a second look at her he had, "Send in whoever was knocking on the door on your way out."

Luciana crossed the study, but her hand hadn't made contact with the doorknob before Luca spoke for the last time.

"Luciana? Pull up the strap of your dress, there's no reason for the rest of wizarding society to know what a common slattern you are."

--

A/N: So there it is, what do you think of my new characters?


	26. Chapter 24

**Chapter 24**

Washed and dressed to their usual pristine and exact standards, Montague and Nott sat within the den of the house they were occupying.

The room itself was far away from the dungeons, since the monitoring of their prisoners was no longer a necessity.

Those that were a threat to the wizarding world were now dead. Justice had been passed and none of the witches and wizards they'd used for information would be a danger to the world again.

Only one remained.

Kat.

Angelina's sister.

The decision of what exactly they should do with her had been playing heavily on Montague's mind for the past few days, ever since they had obtained the information required from Fitzpatrick and then put the wizard out of his misery but offering a death that was as quick and painless as possible despite being bloody.

They'd succeeded in their mission and gotten the information so desperately needed by the Order of the Phoenix and now they were steadily closing in on Voldermort, and now it was becoming a waiting game for the battle to take place and for Potter to step up and face his destiny.

It had been surprising at just how quickly Voldermorts defences had begun to crumble with the murder of the eldest Malfoy.

No-one, not even the Death Eaters themselves had realized just how much Voldermort depended on his high ranking Officers.

There had been a great deal of movement within the ranks as various wizards were promoted, but few of them held the cunning and experience of those that had been fighting on behalf of Voldemort since the beginning of the first War involving the wizard all those years ago.

Between the pair of them they'd become adept at capturing at least one death eater during each of the raids ensuring that they had a constant stream of information about when the next raids were planned, who was running them, who was being targeted and which witches and wizards had been promoted within the Dark Lords Army.

Discretely they'd passed that information back to the Order, being careful that they gave no hint about their whereabouts to ensure their continued success.

The Order began targeting those with the power, knowledge and training within Voldemort's ranks; the Officers.

Over time the promotion to an Officer became the equivalent of a death sentence.

If the Order did not kill the wizards fighting against them, sooner or later Voldemort would as they failed one of his missions.

Although they might not have discussed the matter aloud, Montague knew that the decision of what would happen to Kat was weighing on Nott's mind as well.

His instincts, logic and training insisted that they get rid of the woman, and destroy all evidence relating to her as they had done for anyone else they'd captured.

But, some part of him was holding back from travelling down that path.

Loathe though he was to admit it, Montague knew that it had something to do with the fact that she was Angelina's sister and sole surviving relative with the exception of Josh.

He was growing soft, he thought with disgust. There had been a time that he'd murdered his own mother without a second thought.

Now, he didn't have it in him to kill a witch that was far more trouble than she appeared and who had seen and heard far too much.

The 'den' as they'd nicknamed it, had been furnished in the typical style of a gentleman's club back in the early 20's.

Light polished wood ran along the walls, a shade lighter than the other furniture within the room. The bookcases were filled with classic literature, and a few of the more modern titles.

The chairs were a plush dark brown leather, so comfortable that once he was seated, Montague had little inclination to move.

There was bar in the far corner, once again of the highest standard of impeccable taste filled with decanters of priceless spirits and a variety of port that he was prone to should the mood strike him.

The chairs he and Nott were relaxing in faced the ornate fireplace that was bare of any feminine trinkets except for the glass ashtray positioned at one corner.

The candles, in holders positioned at regular intervals along the walls were lit, providing a dull light to the room and the smoky ambience that the furniture seemed to suggest to.

A snooker table was situated at the far end of the room, the lighting visibly brighter to ensure the players could enjoy a game with clarity of sight, if not clarity of mind when the competitive streak became too much for them to think clearly.

The dark green felt stretched across the table was unmarred by the slightest hint of cue dust or any scratches caused by a miscalculated shot brought on by one to many drinks or distractions.

"What do you think?" Nott asked before taking a sip of his brandy and taking the time to warm it; swirling the liquid gently in it's glass as his hands cupped it as he waited for Montague's reply.

Montague pursed his lips as he tried to formulate his thoughts into some semblance of cohesion. "I think…" Montague began slowly, "It is not so much a matter of what our options are regarding Kat, but rather what our options are not.

The bottom line is we can kill her and dispose of the body and leave no trace of her.

If we let her free we would need to look at the precautions that would need to be put in place and consider the problems that might possibly arise at a later date.

In some respects it would be easy to ensure she is monitored as she is Angelina's sister, and therefore it would be necessary for constant contact with her. But then I ask myself - Do I want to bother with all the hassle that could come from keeping her alive."

Nott gave a noncommittal grunt and Montague continued musing the options for the young woman aloud.

"At this point in time, as far as Angelina is concerned her sister is dead, and she is probably grieving and dealing with her emotions. Would it not cause her more pain for her sister to be returned to her, only for our spells to weaken over time, or, should we decide to renew them, for the constant strain of having magic cast on her for her body to give way.

We have both seen cases where such a thing has happened if the witch or wizard is controlled for a long period of time using that method.

Eventually she would need to go to a healer and the problem would be diagnosed from there if we do not catch on in time."

Staring into the fire, Montague tapped his fingers on the armchair of where he was seated, the only outward sign of his agitation.

If it had been anyone but Nott, Angelina or Luca in the room he would have even refrained from that display.

Nott was one of his closest companions, Luca was family and they had been through far too much together in their relatively short lives and Angelina always knew when something was bothering him even if she never acted like she noticed or cared. She'd simply get a glint in her eye which warned him that she had caught him out.

Stretching his legs, Nott finished the last of his drink and then headed across to the bar for a refill. His face was blank and his eyes dark as he contemplated the options before him.

They might work with the Order, but at the end of the day, in this instance, the decision of Kat's fate was down to them.

The Order being the soft hearted fools that they were would demand that she live and was released with a full pardon, outraged at what she had been through.

But she was too much of a liability.

She'd seen too much.

She'd heard too much.

That had worked in their favour at one point, but not any longer.

Something drifted through Nott's mind.

A memory, a revelation…something that would provide answers to which path they should now take with her.

It was just out of reach.

A brief flicker of it rushed through his mind before disappearing into darkness once again.

What was it he was trying to remember?

The scent of brandy drifted up beneath his nostrils as Nott refilled his glass before setting the decanter down.

Walking back across the room, Nott set his glass down and then headed for the sideboard and opened the cigar box.

He paused and closed the box. Mentally taking a step back he stared at the lacquered finish of the wooden box, taking note of the red design across it's (its) lid. The colour so dark that it almost appeared as dried blood.

Blood…

The word tumbled through his mind.

Blood…

Blood…

Suddenly it hit him, the memory he'd desperately been trying to grasp shooting forward to the forefront of his mind.

"**Half dressed, wet and covered in blood. Just the way I like 'em." **Nott murmured repeating the same words he'd spoken to Kat the first time that he had ever seen her.

"Pardon?" Montague asked hearing Nott speak but not catching what he'd said.

Ignoring his companion, Nott focused on the memory playing through his mind.

**Blood was smeared along the basin, the mirror above it shattered and the cup of toothbrushes knocked to the floor.**

**Shards of the mirror were covered with blood, the small silver slivers scattered dangerously over the laminate flooring and ingrained in the bath mat.**

**With each step he took the pieces crunched beneath his black dragon-hide shoes.**

**She was pressed against the wall in the shower. Black hair plastered to her skin by blood and water.**

**She was held there by a Death Eater.**

**The Death Eater would remain nameless, but only until his mask was knocked loose or removed and then he would know who would be stupid enough to dare such a thing. Who could be so oblivious not to notice him in the doorway, ready and waiting to pounce?**

**She was fighting, her hands, teeth and legs all working, fingers clawing at him wherever she could as she panted desperately trying to inhale air.**

**Her struggles were ineffective against the Death Eater's larger frame and the outfit he was wearing.**

**She was holding him off, but only just. As soon as he got a good grip on her hands, it would all be over.**

**Kat lashed out, trying to bring her right elbow down across her attacker's nose and simultaneously bring her knee up.**

**The Death Eater anticipated the attack and took a sudden step back.**

**Without the Death Eater pinning her to the wall, Kat fell forward but wasn't quick enough to wriggle free. She was caught with a hand against her throat and slammed back against the tiled wall. As the back of her head smashed against the mosaic tile pattern, she saw a flash of bright lights dance in front of her eyes leaving her stunned for a moment.**

**The spots intensified as the hand around her windpipe tightened and cut off her supply of oxygen.**

**Frantically she tried to bring her leg up between his knees again, but lack of oxygen and the bewilderment she was feeling since her bang on her head only worked against her, making her movements sluggish and weak.**

**Then suddenly the weighty burden was removed, her attacker collapsing in to the bottom of the white shower tray, blood swirling around him and continuing to disappear in a clockwise motion down the drain.**

**Pink droplets had collected against the glass shower screen, trailing down the hard material as the spray from the showerhead rushed out.**

There had been blood everywhere.

Far too much blood.

Why had it not occurred to him at the time?

She had been uninjured by the Death Eater with the exception of a few minor abrasions and bruising, the most serious of her injuries being the scrape down the left side of her back and along her bottom where it appeared she'd somehow been thrown or dragged along some hard flooring.

But there had been blood everywhere, smeared across her face, it had been ingrained in her hair, and clumped together the strands of hair.

Clumped…

For the blood to have actually dried in her hair, Kat would have to have been involved in an attack or fight before the confrontation that had taken place in her bathroom.

No Death Eater would remove his prey and separate themselves from those he'd arrived from.

There was always the possibility of attack from the Order and there was safety in numbers.

Not only that, a hot little thing like Kat, and there would have been more than one Death Eater involved in the attack, and several more looking on.

When Montague spoke of the attack, and the family party preceding it not once had he mentioned Kat.

Not once.

How had the both of them overlooked it?

For her to have been separated from her family to such an extent, for her injuries to not have been coherent with the attack on her it meant only one thing(;) : she had not been at the party.

Likely she had arrived moments before the attack and then been cornered in the bathroom.

That made the question of what to do with her another matter entirely.

It also brought up the question of where she had been and what she had been doing.

Two very important questions.

"The blood Monatgue?" Nott asked crossing the floor towards to door. "Where did all the blood come from? Why wasn't she at the party before the attack?" He questioned as he pulled open the door and started down the hallway.

Not to be left behind, Montague quickly followed suit and followed his fellow wizard through the labyrinth of hallways and corridors through the old house towards the dungeons where Kat was being kept.

His mind whirled as he understood what Nott was saying.

The dungeons were dark, and despite the fact that they were enclosed with windows or any hint of natural light there was always a cold draught.

The walls, of thick granite were cold to the touch, and no matter the number of heating spells cast it wouldn't make any difference to the prisoners.

Years and years ago it was rumoured that the daughter of the house had taken a lover, and when her father discovered the shame she had brought down upon the family he had captured the wizard and imprisoned him.

His actions did not put an end to the daughters feelings and legend had it that she'd often crept down to the dark, dank chambers to provide comfort to her lover by healing his wounds and casting warming charms to counter act the deathly cold that invaded the lower dungeons.

When he father found out he murdered the pair of them, more willing to have a dead daughter than one who brought shame on the family by loving a man beneath her. Still not content with the revenge he'd taken he went one step further and cursed the dungeon itself, any spell that was cast on any one of the prisoners with the purpose of comfort with ineffective - dissipating into the thin air.

Entering the dungeons hot on Nott's heels, Montague was forced to wait as Nott entered one of the chambers and unchained Kat from against the wall.

While waiting for their prisoner Montague cast a lighting spell, causing every point within the room to be illuminated by the bright glaring light.

Raising his wand he directed the plain wooden chair covered in blood and grime into the centre of the room.

No sooner than the chair legs hit the stone floor than Nott appeared, Kat being shoved forward in front of him.

She stumbled and fell, landing on her knees with a grunt muffled by the gag in her mouth.

Her hands were tied behind her back and she struggled for a few seconds, unable to get her balance or brace herself by putting her hands in front of her.

Just as she was about to teeter forward Nott prevented it; by grabbing at her hair and yanking her back by the grease and dirt encrusted strands.

The woman in front of them bore little comparison to the first time than Montague had met her in the nightclub.

They'd not broken her yet though.

There was still a fire burning in her eyes.

Hauling her to her feet, Nott pushed her down into the chair Montague had set out.

Kat glared at Nott and shrieked something at the wizard from behind her gag.

Impatient for his answers, and not willing to play the gracious and lenient captor, Nott raised his hand and backhanded her across the face.

Kat's head whipped round with the force of the blow and she swayed in her seat; would have fallen out of it if Montague had been one step slower and failed to cast the charm binding her to the seat and the seat to the floor.

"We don't have time for games today Katherine." Nott chided. "You've been a very bad girl."

Kat didn't respond to Nott's accusation.

Her head lolled to the side, and then sagged forward as she tried to recover from the harsh blow.

Leaning forward, Nott caught at Kat's chin and lifted it up and tilted her face in his direction so she was forced to look at him as he spoke.

"Where were you before the party Katherine?" He asked softly.

Kat remained silent, her eyelids dropping down, her head only held up by Notts hands.

Annoyed Nott stood back and scowled.

"Well," Montague drawled, "You certainly didn't knock any sense into her. If anything you've knocked the ability to speak out of her.

A useful skill in most cases, but not this one."

"Shut up Montague," Nott hissed transfiguring an old pebble into a bucked filled to the brim with ice cold water.

Levitating the bucket and it's contents he upended it over Kat who was slumped forward as far as she was able in the bindings.

She gave a gasp, her muscles contracting as the dousing of cold water pulled her back from the dazed confusion she'd been wandering in.

Shivering violently, Kat tried to shake her head to help get the water out of her eyes, but her body was heavy with fatigue.

"There we go." Nott crooned brushing back some of the wet strands of hair plastered across her face. "Now Katherine," he explained, "I am going to remove this gag, and then I want you to tell me exactly where you were and why you weren't at your nephew's party along with the rest of your family. If you lie to me, I will know and believe me, you don't want me to use another method to get that information out of you. It will be far more easier for the both of us if you just co-operate."

Again he raised his wand and cast a charm to untie the knot at the back of her head and then levitated the scrap of filthy fabric to the floor.

With the tip of his shoe Nott kicked it back towards the wall.

Knowing that now was not the time to play the brave fool, Kat complied with Nott's demands. Her voice was hoarse as she spoke, her vocal cords affected by the cold damp that pervaded the dungeons and that had settled onto her chest, and through a combination of lack of use for long periods of time, and then extensive screaming although that had not happened quite as often as it had done.

Did that mean that she was growing accustomed to the sights and sounds that were now a daily part of her life?

How did her sister care about one of these monsters?

And Angelina did care. She'd seen it with her own two eyes.

It was unfathomable that this man who loved her sister.

How could it be?

Was this really the same wizard who held her sister so tightly and wiped her tears?

Was this the wizard who comforted Angelina over the miscarriage for a child belonging to another man?

A man he despised?

How could that wizard allow his friend to treat her in such a way?

He could cause the same pain Nott did when it was necessary. She'd often witnessed his brutality as he pulled information from witches and wizards through any means necessary.

What did it matter that they were Death Eaters?

Montague made them cry and beg and scream for mercy the same as if they were any other wizard.

"My…father." Kat whispered painfully. It hurt to breathe, it hurt to talk. "I w-was…visitng…my father."

"Where did the blood come from Katherine?" Nott asked once he'd gauged the truthfulness of her first answer.

"F-fight…argument over…my…m-mother…" Kat panted, anticipating what his question would be once she'd admitted to the argument she'd been involved in.

Never mind the fact that she'd been the one to instigate the argument and the following fight.

She hadn't just wanted revenge on her father, she'd wanted answers as well. She'd long known why he'd had her mother killed but she'd wanted, or rather needed to hear him say them aloud and give her closure.

"Where's your father now?" Nott enquired.

Six feet beneath the ground, Kat thought sarcastically.

In which part of the country he was buried six feet under though she didn't know which meant she could answer truthfully. "Don't know…don't care…"

The ropes were still tight around her wrists, cutting off her circulation and biting into the delicate flesh as they were pulled painfully behind her back.

In front of her Nott wavered, and Kat blinked trying to bring him back into focus.

"I want you to tell me what the argument was about Katherine."

She didn't want to tell him, didn't want these wizards knowing her past. It was dangerous, but it was also dangerous to refuse to answer Nott's questions.

If she stopped co-operating with him Montague might get involved and his methods were far more vicious than those Nott used.

She'd never seen Nott pull someone's intestines out through their belly button.

"T-the way…" Swallowing, Kat gathered her courage it always took her when she spoke about her mother and her violent end. "T-the way…he treated my m-mother…what he d-did to…her…"

A vision of her mother appeared before her eyes, memories taking her back in time until she wasn't conscious of the fact that Nott was crouched down in front of her and she was being held captive by two deranged wizards that didn't deserve to have magic flowing through their veins.

The magic that she'd once been able to control without needing a wand was gone, the shackles around her feet suppressing her magic. Even if she had wand, with the restraints in place she'd have still not been able to use it.

She was jolted back to present time when a hand cupped the side of her face. Kat flinched back, but Nott didn't release her and instead rubbed his thumb across the bottom lip he'd split when he'd slapped her earlier.

"What did he do to her Katherine?"

"Hurt her." She confessed.

"Did you hurt him back?"

The word almost choked her as it got stuck in her throat, but eventually it came out. "Yes."

Nott recalled the Arabic writing engraved into Malfoy's chest.

للألم وإذلال ينزل على أمي, يرجع أنا هو على أنت ثلاثة ثني

They had to cast a translating spell to allow themselves to read the writing in English and the translation had been, 'For the pain and humiliation inflicted upon my mother, I return it upon you three fold.'

Across his back had been the phrase:

لعن دائمة على هذا روح

It meant 'Eternal damnation on this soul.'

Nott dropped his hand from the side of Kat's face and stood up.

He frowned, pondering the information he'd learnt.

Surely this was just too easy; would it all come together so neatly?

The wards to Malfoy Mannor that had been in place on the day of Lucius Malfoy's murder only allowed immediate family members onto the grounds.

Narcissa Malfoy had been accounted for, at the time she'd been shopping in Paris accompanied by several other witches that were married to various Death Eaters.

Their son, Draco had been taking part in a match in his local Quidditch league.

There was only one way to confirm his suspicions.

Pulling out his wand, Nott released the rope wrapped about Kat's wrists.

He grabbed hold of one of her hands and pulled it out in front of her, ignoring her cry of pain as her limbs were moved from their restrained position they'd been trapped in for so long.

Kat whimpered as the rope restricting her flow of blood was removed and began returning to her wrists and fingers.

A shiver struck at her body, the remains of her clothing wet and clinging to her body while the hairs on her skin were standing tall trying to help warm her up.

Before she knew what was happening she was crying out, blood dripping from the palm of her hand from the cut that Nott had inflicted. It coated Nott's hand and the knife he'd transfigured from a marble in his pocket and splattered onto the stone flooring.

Sobbing with pain and exhaustion, Kat tried to withdraw her injured hand and cradle it against her chest, but Nott refused to let go, forcing her palm open so that the frigid air in the dungeons hit the open wound painfully.

He cast a paternity spell that had been common in the middle ages as a way for Fathers to ensure that the son inheriting their lands, and the lands of their family was actually of their blood and belonging to not some kind of mongrel.

The droplets of blood splattered across the floor lifted themselves into midair, forming letters that then formed words.

Mother - Asalah Nasri

Sire - Lucius Malfoy

--

A/N: Thanks to Nocturngurl for her help as beta for this chapter, yes I know it's been a long time coming, so thankyou for all your reviews and I hope that you enjoyed the latest chapter!

As for the translations, they were done via an online translator (I'm not that smart!) so apologies if there are any mistakes :)


	27. Chapter 25

A/N: It's finally finished ;D

Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read, review, add me to your author alerts and favorite lists (eek- sounds like an acceptance speech ;P) and any PM's you've sent me!

A huge thank you to Nocturngurl for being such a fabulous beta!

I don't want to spoil too much of what is ahead, but just to warn you, this chapter is NC-17, if you don't like it, don't read it, simple as ;D

Just to avoid any confusion, and depending on when you last read the story, might be worth re-reading either the story itself, or the last few chapters, sometime even I have to do that! Hopefully, that will mean that any questions you have will be answered in this final chapter ;D

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"Merlin!" Nott swore at the sight before him. "She's only bloody well Lucius Malfoy's fucking daughter."

"Her mother, who is her mother?" Montague asked quickly.

Instantly Nott leapt to his feet and yanked at Kat's left hand. Without hesitation he slashed at her palm and waited impatiently for the blood to collect.

The blood formed into script and together then bent forward to get a better look.

With a hiss Montague stepped back, running his hand through his hair displaying his first emotion, that didn't involved Angelina, since Kat had meet him.

Nott remained where he was, frozen to the spot in shock.

Collecting himself he swivelled round to look at Montague, still crouched down in front of the blood.

"I thought the Issa bloodline had died out."

"So did I." Montague snarled. "Obviously we have living proof that it hasn't."

"Merlin." Nott cursed as he stood. Marching over to Kat he grabbed hold of her head and twisted it to the side. "You can see it in her eyes and bloody cheekbones. How the fuck did we miss it?"

Shrugging Montague rubbed at his eyes. The new discovery of Kat's parentage now made the issue of her disposal even more critical. "I don't know. All that matters now is what we do with her."

"Aleah Issa." Nott said, "She was the last Issa alive of marriageable age wasn't she?"

Montague nodded in agreement. "Yes, and she mysteriously disappeared years ago never to be seen again. It was reputed that she'd had a child out of wedlock, but those rumours were never confirmed."

"Where was she last seen?"

"Africa I believe." Montague replied with a frown. "What are you thinking?"

"It hardly seems likely that a witch last seen in Africa would have handed her child over to a muggle living in Britain. How did she come to be part of the Johnson family?"

Together they turned to face Kat who was sitting straight in the chair, her eyes darting back and forth between the two of them nervously.

They'd discovered far too much.

"The wise woman." Montague said quietly. "Angelina went to see her, several months ago now. She was the one who interjected you into the Johnson household, wasn't she Kat? She manipulated their memories so you became a part of them, created photo's with you in them, created a new birth certificate and they had no idea that you have never before been part of their family."

Kat's eyes widen in surprise. So shocked she didn't even think of denying it. "H-how do you know that?" She spluttered.

Montague sneered at her in disgust. "You didn't think for a second that I would allow Angelina to disappear from my reach and not find out where she went did you?" He asked derisively.

"Fuck." Nott muttered, and then laughed lightly. "She's a sneaky little thing," he commented with a contemplative air.

"Mmm." Agreed Montague.

"I'll have her." Nott said suddenly. "It's time that I took a wife." He looked at Kat speculatively. "She's of good bloodlines, sturdily built and young enough to bear plenty of children."

Turning to look at the younger wizard, Montague raised an eyebrow.

Shrugging Nott explained his reasoning despite the fact he owed Montague nothing. "It only makes sense," he said. "There is a shortage of pureblood witches out there at the moment of marriageable age as I'm sure you know. Not that you need worry any longer since you have Angelina, but it's only going to get worse for the likes of me when the war ends. No family will want to align with a suspected former death eater and they will not be trusted to keep the secret, it's inevitable that at some point they will catch sign of the tattoo. Besides," Nott added, "it's hard enough to find a suitable candidate for a wife now. She's lived with muggles as well, she's not brought up as a glass ornament. I won't have to be decorous about bedding her. I'll be able to give into my baser urges without shocking my wife. It also saves the added expense of keeping a mistress."

"There is that benefit," Montague agreed dryly.

"I'm not bloody well marrying you!" Kat spat out, losing the fear that had kept her tongue under control.

Ignoring Kat as though she was not in the room, Montague and Nott continued talking, weighing the pro's and con's of such a union.

"She'll likely settle down when she has a few children and a house to occupy her time." He shot a masculine smirk in Montague's direction. "I'll just need to make sure that she starts breeding immediately. That won't be any hardship."

"She's hardly the meek type." Montague pointed out as Kat cursed at them. "The Issa are notorious for being immune to potions and persuasion techniques'. You'll need to look into the brandings and see whether or not they will have any effect on her to make the witch more biddable."

Nott gave an unconcerned shrug. "I care not." He drawled with wicked humor. "I'll just have to do things the muggle way and tie her down to the bed to have my way with her. I'm almost inclined to hope that she does resist the potions."

"You're a bastard!" Kat screamed at him, tugging at her bonds as she tried to free herself. "I'm not marrying you, and it doesn't make a difference which way you do it! Potions or rope! It's still rape!"

In an instant Nott lost his air of joviality that surrounded him as he mused over his marriage with Montague.

"I believe I will leave you to deal with her." Montague said, "You'll need the practice. Best to start as you mean to go on." With those parting words of advice he left the chamber, leaving the pair of them alone.

Stepping up close to Kat, Nott caught her face between his palms as she tried to evade his touch. "We will be married. You will become my wife in every meaning of the word." He warned her harshly. "Best remember that rape does not take place within a wizarding marriage. A wife is the property of her husband and he may treat her as he sees fit." Nott reminded Kat."If I decide to starve you, beat you, or fuck you I am well within my rights to do so. I can make your life very uncomfortable."

Leaning in closer he whispered into her ear, "And merlin help you, darling, if come our wedding night and I find out that you've let another man between you legs. You might have spent the last few years with muggles, but as a witch you should know the worth attached to your virginity. And I intend to get my troubles worth out of you."

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"Angelina! Angelina!" Luciana called out as she ran across the lawn to where Angelina was walking along the lake. It had become her habit during the past few months that she had been living at the Villa.

Luciana was the most unreserved Angelina had seen her.

The younger witch was wildly waving the newspaper in her hand. "It's over! The war is over!"

The words didn't sink in. She couldn't possibly mean…

"The war?"

Luciana came to a stumbling halt and thrust the wizarding paper into Angelina's hands.

The Prophet's headline was free of (exaggeration? Something along those lines. Or flourish I think I was thinking of the word below)

It was simply the pure, unembellished truth. 'Voldemort Dead - Defeated by Potter.'

Unseeingly Angelina stared at Luciana, unable to believe it. The news had been so long in coming she'd gotten to the point where a life that wasn't overshadowed by the wizarding war and the Dark Lord didn't seem possible.

"Is it true? Are they quite sure?"

Luciana nodded. "I asked Luca. He confirmed it." She replied quickly. "Potter defeated him during the battle that raged last night. His body was burnt in the early hours of the morning, his ashes are being held by the ministry to ensure they do not fall into the wrong hands and that he cannot possible be resurrected. All of the precautions have been taken."

"It's over." Angelina repeated to herself in a whisper. "It's over."

Gradually she began to comprehend the world changing news.

Without warning she burst into tears.

The paper dropped from her hands and dropped onto the lawn forgotten and Luciana embraced her.

Relief was overwhelming.

They were safe. She no longer had to fear for her nephew's life, or for her own.

Things could return to normal. She would be able to build her life back up again.

Voldemort was dead.

Clutching at one another they both wept together with relief and joy.

"I know. It is at an end." Luciana sobbed.

Gradually though the relief and joy dispersed, anger and despair taking their places.

Angelina wished her family were alive to rejoice in the news with her. That her father knew the wizard responsible for her mother's death was defeated and would never walk the earth again.

That Emmy was there to celebrate with her, to be hugged as she was doing with Luciana now.

If only Voldemorts defeat had taken place earlier then her family would still be alive.

They'd be out in the streets of Diagon Alley and Hogsmeade, dancing in the street with the masses of other witches and wizards, fear gone from their lives.

How they would have loved to see this day.

But it was too late for them.

Too late.

Her legs gave way beneath her, Angelina's knees hitting the thick and lush grass that cushioned her fall.

Luciana fell with her, and kneeling they continued to hold each other, so many emotions rushing through their bodies that they couldn't find the words to describe them.

Luciana wept knowing with relief knowing her son would not have to be a part of the dark inner world her husband lived in. She cried knowing that other young girls in her position would no longer be used as bargaining chips by the Dark Lord.

Fighting to breathe, Angelina cried with anguish that her family were not alive to witness the miracle that had taken place, and relief that she had lived through the dark days that she had very nearly drowned in.

"Alexander will be home soon. He will come for you now." Luciana whispered to Angelina when no more tears were left. "He will come for you and together you will be happy."

-------------

More than a month past, and still Montague did not arrive at the Villa.

In the days following Voldemort's defeat Angelina had spent the time on the edge, jumping at every sound, sure that Montague would simply turn up.

She'd thought about what she was going to say.

The questions that she was going to ask.

The questions that she was going to demand answers to.

She'd rehearsed her speeches, imagined their reunions in thousands of different ways trying to get a feeling of how she was going to react to him.

How she was going to confront him over his deception?. The fact that he'd kept his work with the Order hidden from her.

The time she'd spent at the Villa with Luca, Luciana and Dante had meant that she'd come to terms with it in some respects, but she hadn't seen Montague since finding out.

Depending on her mood, some days she understood his actions, she could deal with them and cope with it. Other days she didn't accept it at all, she wanted to rant and rave at him over the stress and worry he'd caused her, the fear for her family's lives.

The anticipation of his appearance was also laced with dread.

She's created a safe little world for herself and Josh, insulated from the outside world.

Alex would destroy the illusion that she had created.

-----------

Luciana stood in front of her favourite window, looking out at the view across the spacious gardens that led down to the lake.

From her earliest days at the Villa this had been her favourite spot, and she'd spent hours looking out of the window.

In the mornings she could open the patio doors and step out onto the balcony and breathe in the fresh air and watch the sunrise, the rays striking the gently rippling waters of the lake and drying away the drops of dew upon the foliage.

It was no surprise therefore that Luca often knew where to find her if he needed too.

Luciana didn't turn as she heard her husband enter the room and close the door behind him.

His entrance only encouraged her to keep her eyes fixed on the scenic landscape before her.

She spotted Angelina as the witch came into sight from around the bend as she took her normal evening walk.

Evidently she wasn't the only one that took comfort from the lake.

Luca drifted up behind her, wrapping his arms about her waist and drawing her back against his chest.

She allowed him to do so, not fighting his actions, but going with them instead, resting her hands on top of his where they were set on her stomach knowing that he liked it when she did that.

Luca was a mass of contradictions. He claimed to despise any form of softness from her, yet though he mocked affection he didn't hesitate to demand that she gave it to him, that she acted as though she cared for him, loved him even though he'd laughed when they'd first been married and she'd promised that she'd try and love him.

If she tried to evade his touch, if she flinched away from him he'd fly into a rage.

He'd never once raised his hand or wand to her throughout the course of their marriage.

That had surprised her, it still did. Her father loved her mother, but still felt that he had the right to 'correct' her if he felt the need was there. It was only rare that such incidents occurred, but they happened on an infrequent basis.

Not that Luca needed to raise his fist or curse her; his words were cutting enough and left a far longer lasting impression.

The sun was setting, casting shadows across the gardens as the night prevailed.

Tilting her head to the side, Luciana remained passive as Luca nuzzled along her neck, his teeth grazing her skin occasionally.

A small sigh left her body. She hated it. Hated him. Hated that he knew her body so well and that he could use his knowledge to get the reaction he wanted from her.

Just once she'd have liked to have the willpower to resist him.

He played her like a fine musician played the piano.

A gasp followed, escaping from her a moment later, although for once it wasn't anything to do with Luca.

A tall dark figure swathed in wizarding robes wove through the gardens, heading down towards the lake where Angelina sat with her back to the Villa.

Luciana knew that stride, that tall figure.

"He's back." She murmured.

"Yes." Luca agreed, nipping at her earlobe, his eyes also following Montague's progress through the gardens. "And now we shall find out whether or not you will get another child that you so desperately want."

-------------------

At long last the moment had come.

He was about to face Angelina for the first time since the horrific attack on her family's home.

He'd spent months anticipating this moment. He'd been thinking about it, dreaming about it, even worrying about it; though he'd admit that to no one.

Despite the fact that the wizarding war had been over for a couple of months, he'd not been so quickly released from his duties.

Though Voldemort himself was dead, various members of the Death Eater society had continued to make stands against The Order of Phoenix.

Both him, and Nott, along with numerous other witches and wizards had been charged with quashing the uprisings.

There was also the consideration of various business matters he'd had to settle.

He'd been undercover for a considerable amount of time, and while various investments had been ticking over quite nicely, there was the odd one or two that needed to be dealt with that his Steward did not have the necessary authority to handle.

Then there was the matter of some of his more…illegal lines of income that needed to be wrapped up quickly and quietly.

They'd lasted as long as they had done because of the war.

Now that it was over, the ministry's attention would return to it's previous investigations.

There was the possibility that he could have letthem run for a few more months while the ministry was in turmoil, but it was better not to go down that route.

Not to mention Angelina would have enough accusations to hurl at him, and it would probably be better not to upset her to such an extent when their relationship had just got back onto even ground.

Montague was aware that he was going to need all of his attention focused on her throughout the next crucial period of their relationship.

It was one reason why he'd been insistent that he was up to date with all his estate and business matters; so he could focus entirely on her.

He'd received regular reports from Luca, and apparently she'd made fast friends with Luciana,(not surprising considering the fact they had plenty in common having been kidnapped by Montague men) while Josh was slowly recovering from the ordeal of losing his parents.

The little boy had taken Dante under his wing, and despite the difference in ages, Montague had the feeling that the pair of them were going to wreak havoc on the wizarding world in years to come.

Stepping down onto the smooth lawn, Montague breathed in the warm Italian air, scented with the citrus fruits that grew on the estate.

The sun had set long ago, but the full moon provided plenty of light and he could see Angelina clearly down on the edge of the lake.

He paused for a moment, drinking in the sight of her and taking the time to appreciate the serenity she was exuding. He knew the moment she caught sight of him all composure would fly away. It always did, it was the main reason he could read her as well as he did.

Ah, but it would be nice to sleep in the same bed as her tonight. To feel the smooth curves of Angelina's body pressed against his.

He'd been celibate for too long. In fact, he hadn't gone this long without getting laid since he'd first lost his virginity at fifteen.

He wasn't going to be stopping until the pair of them were well and truly spent come morning.

Slowly he made his way down to Angelina.

It was only when his feet crunched on the gravel of the pathway that she turned around to face the person approaching her.

Montague stopped and absorbed the sight of Angelina immobile in front of him.

Then suddenly she gasped, hands coming up to clasp over her mouth in shock.

"Alex?" She whispered in disbelief. "Alex." Angelina's eyes were wide, but the shadows of the night concealed the emotions within them leaving Montague to guess at what her reaction was going to be.

Oh he knew that his Dark Angel would be furious with him, that he would feel the heat of her rage soon enough, but not for the first few minutes where she assured herself that he was alive and in front of her.

"Alex." She repeated in shock unable to say another word.

He was there.

Alive.

In front of her.

Her knees felt weak at the sight of him.

And it was Montague, not some figment of her imagination.

Fighting for air she crossed the short gap between them and flung herself into his arms, reveling in the feel of them about her body once again.

Blindly she buried her head in his shoulder and breathed in the scent of him once again.

Clutching at him Angelina struggled to believe that Montague had returned to her.

He was back.

The world around her was spinning, she could hardly make sense of it.

She had waited for this day to come for so long she could hardly believe that it had arrived.

Numb.

Numbness pervaded Angelina's body, freezing her mind with shock and the wealth of emotions that she was feeling.

Too many to name.

Too many to differentiate between.

She didn't know what she was feeling except that every cell within her body was feeling something.

Trembling, Angelina drew Montague's scent into her lungs, breathing in the smell that she'd missed after so long.

She'd been surprised at herself when she realized she missed the fact that the bed clothes didn't smell like him. That she missed breathing him in as he wrapped himself around her body.

He felt so strong and capable pressed against her, so reassuring, so solid.

Her arms clutched at him, unconsciously scared that he would disappear from in front of her. That he was merely a figment of her imagination.

Then his mouth was baring down on hers, his tongue sliding against hers and the taste of him filling her mouth.

Montague's hand cradled the back of her head, refusing to allow her to retreat from the hunger he was feeling.

A shiver ran down Angelina's spine, but this time it was from the dark excitement in her body as Montague reinforced his claim on her.

Hungry for her response he demanded it from her as he strove to remind her just who it was she belonged to. The kiss was one of possession and neither one of them would be forgetting it any time soon.

Fire licked at her body, and Angelina pressed herself closer to Montague in an effort to relieve the sensations.

Instead it only encouraged his demands on her and Angelina felt her body slide further out of control.

She gasped as her body was urged backwards and pinned against the tree she'd paused under.

It's purpose during the day was to provide shelter from the sun, and both she and Luciana had spent many hours sat out underneath it as they watched the children play.

Now Montague used the shadows to conceal them despite knowing that no one would approach them, would dare interrupt, but old habits rode him hard.

The collision of her back and the rough bark of the tree had Angelina arching up against him with a small cry.

He'd never been that rough before, demanding yes, each time they had sex he demanded everything from her. But he'd been careful to insure that the only bruises he'd left upon her skin were ones he'd deliberately put there. Not ones that had come about because he'd been so out of control as he was tonight.

The need for air becoming a priority Montague tore him lips away from Angelina's mouth and buried them against her throat.

Immediately she tilted her head back, twisting it to the side to allow him more room.

Deliberately he bit down, not hard enough to break the skin, but hard enough to ensure that the remnants of his teeth were left behind.

Angelina whimpered at his actions, her fingers buried deep in his hair as he laved at the mark he'd inflicted on her, nibbling and sucking, and licking at the length of her neck.

His hands weren't idle, one of them sliding up the back of her thigh to knead at the firm flesh of her ass while the other cupped the familiar weight of her breast, the small bud of her nipple pressing into the centre of his palm, begging to be toyed with.

He did as her body asked, shoved her clothing aside and rolled the engorged flesh between his finger and his thumb, pinching at the sensitive bud and enjoying the sensation it had on Angelina as her body undulated against his own.

Impatiently Montague wedged his thigh between her own, pressing it up high between her thighs to enough Angelina to grind against it.

She did as he intended, her hips pushing down on his limb in an attempt to try and satisfy the hunger growing in her body.

He plucked at her nipples, alternating between the two of them, unable to settle on one and ignore the other as he feasted along the curve of her neck.

The thin silk of her evening robes taunted him. They let him feel her reaction to his touch, but concealed the smooth skin of her breasts from his questing hands.

Merlin he wanted more of her than this.

Angelina cried out in protest as he withdrew his thigh from between her legs, his hand from her breast.

Carried away by the emotions crashing through her body, she could think of little apart from the sleek strength of Montague's body pressed against her own.

Her cry of denial soon faded, replaced by one of approval as Montague gripped at the back of her thighs and lifted her body.

Instinctively her legs wrapped about his waist, her back arching away from the rough back that scratched at her back.

Belatedly she felt a warm breeze brush against her chest and then Montague's mouth attaching itself to her nipple, sucking the hardened bud into the warm of his mouth and toying with it.

Satisfaction thrummed through his body as Angelina gasped when he rolled the taunt peek of flesh between his teeth and then nipped at the underside of her breast.

His fingers delved back between her thighs, impatiently pushing her knickers aside to forge deep inside her body without any hesitation.

"Alex." Angelina keened, her fingers tugging hungrily at the front of his robes.

Ignoring Angelina's whimper of displeasure as he removed his fingers from her body, Montague brushed her hands aside to unfasten the tie of his robes and then the trousers he was wearing beneath them.

The fabric sat along the curve of his hip for several seconds before Angelina's squirming caused them to fall, collapsing around his ankles.

Desperate to be back inside of Angelina; where he belonged, Montague yanked at the delicate fabric that prevented him from entering without further ado.

Shifting her in his arms, Montague thrust into her body, unable to give Angelina time to adjust to the intrusion until he was buried deep inside of her.

Her head arched back, accompanied by a chocked scream at the sensation of Montague's erection throbbing inside of her body.

Gritting his teeth, Montague struggled to hold off his climax. Letting out a ragged breath his head dropped down onto Angelina's shoulder. Merlin, nothing could live up to the feeling of being buried deep inside her, of feeling her body, hot and wet for him clenched tightly around his penis.

Angelina's fingers were digging into the back of his neck, her hips grinding down against him as she tried to tempt into moving. "Alex…"

The sound of his name, whispered in a breathy plead against the shell of his ear had Montague withdrawing from Angelina's body until only the tip of him remained.

Merlin, he thought, this had to be the sweetest torture imaginable. He thrust back into Angelina's body driving her back against the tree, forcing her to brace her body against the harsh bark at her back to accept more of him.

And then he couldn't stop, couldn't stop driving himself into her body with a lack of control that had been unknown to himself previously.

His lips and teeth clashed against hers, urgent and demanding in the same way his erection was.

There was no steady rhythm as he drove himself into her body, instead there was the harsh pant of his breath against her throat, hard, bruising thrusts in an uneven tempo as Montague attempted to enter Angelina's body as often and as quickly as possible.

Sobbing and gasping, Angelina babbled incoherently, unsure of what she was saying, except she was pretty sure that it was something along the lines of 'harder' 'yes' 'don't stop' and 'Alex.'

Each time Montague entered her body he hit that sweet spot inside of her that only heightened the sensations she was experiencing.

She was so close…so close… "Alex…Alex…ALEX!"

Angelina's body tightened around him, but Montague was too far gone to notice. He couldn't come yet, not yet, just a little bit longer, he promised herself as he continued to ride Angelina through her orgasm.

Sweat beaded across his brow, but Montague paid it little attention as he shook his head, his eyes landing on the branch above Angelina.

Slowing his pace, Montague caught Angelina's eye. "Reach up Angel…and…grab hold…of that branch." He told her. "Now." Montague demanded as the instruction took a little too long to sink in.

Hesitantly Angelina reached up, her body stretching itself up along the tree to reach the branch that Montague was referring too.

"That's it Angel…that's it." Montague praised her as Angelina's breasts were raised higher up, closer to his mouth, her nipples thrusting out at him proudly, demanding his attention.

Angelina's body relaxed somewhat as she began to understand Montague's reasoning, her head thumping back against the tree as her eyes fell shut. Licking her lips, she focused on nothing else but the slide of Montague's erection into her body, the wet slap of their bodies as they met, the harsh pant of his breath.

Breaking the uneven rhythm they'd established for a moment, Montague hooked Angelina's legs over his arms, spreading them further apart so she was fully exposed to him before sliding back into her body with a hard thrust.

Thrumming with awareness, stemming not only from Montague but from the orgasm she was still recovering from had Angelina cursing out loud as Montague's pubic bone slammed into her clit.

Torn between being totally overwhelmed by the feeling, so much so it was nearing pain, and the knowledge that it wasn't nearly enough Angelina hung there, her hands tight around the tree branch above her head and let Montague take her body as he wanted.

He'd never been a selfish lover, and at times he appeared to have a better understanding of her body than she did. He knew exactly how far he could push her, just what her body could take.

If Montague believed that she was due another orgasm, then hell or high water she would be getting one.

Every thrust had Angelina gasping and Montague grunting, determined not to give in to his impending climax just yet.

The sight of Angelina offering herself up to him, the way she'd subserviently handed her body over to his care, determined to provide him with what he needed had liquid magic roaring through his veins.

"Alex…p-please…please…A-lex…"

"Drop your arms." He demanded gruffly, breathlessly in response to his witch's plea's.

Angelina's body bounced, slamming down hard onto his cock as he continued to drive into her before she grasped at his shoulders, steadying herself as she curled around him.

Her head fell forward onto his shoulder, the heavy rasp of Montague's breathing rushing past her ear.

"After I'm done with you tonight…you're going to feel it for a week Angel…I'm going to come in your mouth…go down on you…your going to…watch me…fuck you from behind…in front of the wall length mirror…you're going to ride me…in the bath while I…play with your tits…and then…there's the good ol'…missionary position…but first…" Montague grit out, "you're going… to come for me." With that said, Montague's arm yanked her leg higher as he found his mark at the base of her back and spread his palm across it.

Crying out, Angelina's body arched, the orgasm rushing through her, the world abound her goingdark for a moment leaving her to see nothing but starts.

Dimly she heard Montague growling her name, his hips grinding into her own as he came within her, his body straining, determined that his cum would penetrate her as deeply as possible.

Trembling Angelina sagged against Montague trusting him to hold her up.

She slipped slightly as he moved, whimpering at the thought that he was going to leave her body just yet.

Hushing her, much like one would do to a small child uneasy in sleep, Montague cupped the side of her face.

Raising Angelina's head from his shoulder he pressed his forehead against her own, breathing her in quietly before brushing his lips softly against Angelina's.

Softly, gently, reverently he moved his lips over Angelina's, content with the light contact the chaste kiss provided.

In a moment of weakness he closed his eyes, hiding his face in the side of her neck and let the memories of war, of the life he'd lead and the things he'd seen be replaced by Angelina. "Merlin I've missed you." He whispered with stark emotion.

As the whispered confession seeped into Angelina's brain, reality returned as well.

The ugly reality of Montague returning, of being wrapped up in his arms.

She felt dizzy and this time it had nothing to do with the phenomenal sex they'd just shared.

Angelina's mouth was dry as her lips parted, ready to speak the words that she'd been preparing to say once they'd received word that Lord Voldemort had been vanquished.

Her voice was hoarse and rusty as though she'd not spoken for months on end. "Let me down."

Slowly she felt Alex's arms relax about her body, his reluctance was a tangible thing but she didn't much care about that.

Shivering as she felt his body slip from within her, Angelina fumbled with the clasp of her clothing making sure to pull her clothes back around her body so she was covered.

Keeping her eyes averted, she only knew that Montague was doing the same thing because of her hearing:the quiet rustle of clothes being straightened, trousers buttoned and zips zipped.

As if sensing that she needed the space between them Montague took a step back but remained silent before her.

Leaning back against the tree, Angelina fought for the strength she knew she was going to need.

Raising her eyes, she let them settle on Montague's face, let them devour every little bit of him, taking a note of the small scar he'd accumulated on the right side of his jaw.

His hair was a mess much as it always was whenever they'd finished having sex, his lips darkened and fuller than usual. Dark impenetrable eyes were watching her steadily, waiting for her to make the first move.

She made it.

Fast as lightening Angelina's hand struck out and imprinted it on the side of Montague's face.

His head turned to the side with the force of the blow, but he made no retaliation other than twisting back round to face her. "That's the only free shot you're going to get Angel."

Adrenaline rushed through Angelina's body leaving her panting.

Shaking she searched for the words that she wanted to shout at him, the words she wanted to fling in his face but she was having trouble finding them.

"Well? Nothing to say?"

Shaking her head, Angelina's face twisted into disgust. "Oh I've got plenty to say Alexander, I just don't now where to start."

"Well if you want -"

"Shut up!" Angelina shrieked emotion getting the better of her. "Just shut the fuck up!"

Heeding the order, Montague remained silent. He'd hoped that provoking her would have the argument over and done with sooner rather than later but obviously Angelina wasn't going to be rushed tonight.

"You're nothing but a liar." Angelina spat at him in a scathing whisper. "Every word that you've spoken to me has been a lie. Your Mother's death. Your position as a Death Eater. What you were going to do to my family. Your friendship with Fred. The Order of Phoenix. I thought…" Scoffing her hands clenched into fists. "I honestly thought that when you got back here that I'd want to know why. Why you picked me. What I did to deserve this. Why you did what you've done full stop. But you know what? I don't care! I don't give a shit about why you've done it! I just want to go home, with Josh and make a new life. One that doesn't include you in any shape or form. I never want to set eyes on you again! You make me sick! I can't even stand to look at you!"

Montague's eyes narrowed and he fought to remain calm, to let Angelina vent and get every last drop out of her body.

It didn't work.

There wasn't a witch alive that could get his pulse racing and emotions fired up like Angelina Johnson.

"Why? You want to know why?! Because I wanted you!" He hissed at her, eyes flashing dangerously. "It's always been about you!

Pushing down to urge to grab hold her arms and shake her until he understood Montague took a step away from Angelina who was staring at him in disbelief.

"You-"

"What, you think that I suddenly just wake up and decide that I need a new undercover whore? That I went to Dumbledore, to the Order on a whim? You think that I didn't consider the consequences of putting that stone around your throat? That mark on your back? Montagues' don't deal in days, weeks, months, we plan in years, centuries! It doesn't matter how long it takes for us to get something so long as we get it!"

Swallowing harshly at the truth that was spewing it's way from Montague's mouth, Angelina felt slightly sick.

Montague sounded obsessed, unhinged almost.

"Do you honestly believe that I would approach such a complex plan in such a blasé manner, with such an unconcerned attitude knowing full well just how great the consequences could be for everyone involved."

Angelina swiped angrily at the tears falling down her face. "Oh I fully believe that. To leave so much to 'chance' isn't in your nature! Merlin how could I have ever believed otherwise?!"

"Because you see me, _you see me_!"

Angelina screeched back at him furious at his words. "I see nothing but lies!"

"No you just don't want to know the truth. There is a part of you, deep down inside that knows what I'm telling you is true. You just don't want to believe that for one minute you allowed yourself to be manipulated by me!" Montague argued back, unwilling to give ground in the matter.

"One example! Give me one bloody example!"

"The wise woman! I brought her! She was on _my _payroll and part of you knew that! You knew that and took her advice and used it against me anyway. Did you never wonder at her words? She encouraged you to challenge me! She encouraged a Gryffindor to challenge a Slytherin! You know that one of the things we love most is a challenge! A fight! A puzzle to solve! It's in our nature! She set you up against me knowing full well that you would fail!"

Her eyes wide with shock, Angelina staring at Montague unseeingly. It wasn't true! It wasn't true! "How did you…how could you…?"

How could he do such a thing?

Simple, the end justifies the means, and in this case the end was Angelina, in his home and in his bed.

As for the how…he'd not been ignorant of the bastard child that Lucius Malfoy had sired, he'd merely been ignorant of who the mother actually was.

Then he'd discovered Kat through sheer luck, of her involvement with the tribe in Africa and played his cards close to his chest so Nott had no idea that he knew the full story behind the witch.

He uncovered the truth, that she and the old woman has bewitched a muggle family, inserting her into their lives as a younger sister, as a younger daughter and then arranging the marriage of the muggle woman, Hazel, to Benjamin Johnson, Angelina's father.

It was a case of leverage, and Montague knew he'd hit the jackpot with that particular find.

That wasn't for Angelina to know though.

The truth would only hurt her, and he had no desire to inflict further pain upon her.

"I don't care. I don't care." Angelina chanted, repeating the words to herself over and over, determined to believe them. "I don't care why you didn't tell me about your Mother, your spying, the Order or the Dark Lord, I don't care why you did it, I just want out of it."

"Why didn't I tell you? Why? Why in merlin's name do you think I didn't tell you?" Montague exploded incredulously, his temper getting the best of him as it usually did when Angelina was involved. "Because it was dangerous you stupid witch. It could have gotten you killed! You think for one second that I would put you in that position? I fucking love you!"

"Well I fucking hate you!" Angelina screamed back at

him in absolute fury. Her body fairly cracked with emotions as her eyes flashed at him. "I hate you!"

As far as Angelina was concerned that explained everything. She hated him. She wanted nothing more to do with him. She couldn't even stand to look at him.

She'd rather deal with Fred and his betrayal a thousand times over than hear Montague speak those words again.

Love!

What did he know of love?

She needed to get away from him.

She needed to get away from him now, before she did something that she regretted.

Her emotions were so all over the place that even she didn't know what she would be feeling next.

She needed to get away from him and think this through.

She needed to be calm and into an argument or confrontation in any other frame of mind when it came to Montague guaranteed that you would end up on the losing end.

She'd learnt that back at Hogwarts.

Despite the fact that she'd been anticipating this meeting between them ever since the day he'd dumped her on the doorstep of the Order of Phoenix, she hadn't realized how emotional she was.

When she'd played this scene out in her head she been cold and 'd been in control! She'd dominated the conversation, after all she was in the right and she'd had her say and then it would all be over and she'd never have to look at his face again.

But it wasn't working out like that at all.

Shaking her head she tried to brush past him, but Montague reached out and caught her in his hands, hauling her body against his own.

She struggled, kicking and cursing at him but it was ineffectual.

"I hate you! I hate you! I hate you!" She raged against his chest, punching against his chest with all her might as images of her family rose before her eyes and left her helpless in the onslaught of emotions that they inspired and that she didn't know how to deal with.

Normally she wasn't a violent person, but evidently she was learning otherwise today.

Up until now everything had been bottled up within herself and it was going to come out here and now.

She just wanted to get away from him.

She couldn't allow Montague to see her like this.

Like some broken, stuttering wreck.

She wasn't going to let him see that this was what he'd driven her too.

A shadow of her former self.

She might have cried for the loss of her parents, the death of her family and friends, but nothing more. She'd felt numb waiting for Montague to return to her.

The anger within Angelina broke, leaving her a sobbing messing in the circle of Montague's arms.

She tried to speak, tried to break away from him but was too weak to do so.

Words lodged themselves at the back of her throat, desperately trying to come out but unable to form. Not that she knew what she wanted to say anyway.

Drawing in great gulps of air Angelina tried to get herself under control but it took time before such wishes became a reality.

Pained Montague stood there and weathered Angelina's emotional storm.

The grieving, the emotions that she was dispelling now were for the best. Left inside they would continue to eat away at her, blacken her heart and soul until nothing but bitterness was left inside.

Once those emotions were released she could deal with them and move on. Become healthy and strong and the women she once was.

The woman that had captivated him all those years ago.

He forced himself to be patient, silently waiting for Angelina to calm down.

He didn't offer any words of comfort.

They would not be welcomed from him, and to be honest he thought them hollow and unworthy.

Words were words, easily and hastily spoken and just as quickly broken.

Instead he chose to remain a silent pillar supporting her until she was strong enough to stand beside him.

His arms tightened about her body, his head dipped to inhale the scent of her hair and then her skin.

Forcing himself to be patient, Montague waited.

"I hate you!" Angelina sobbed against Montague's chest as he tightened his grasp on her in response.

His hold on her changed gradually becoming more comforting instead of a way to subdue her.

"No you don't." Montague replied softly, the soft puff of his words ruffling her hair.

"I do! I do…" Angelina repeated in a mantra of sorts until it became almost a whimper. "I hate you."

Montague refused to pay any heed to the words. While his witch was adamantly repeating those words, as though saying them often enough would make them true, her hands were sliding down from his chest and clenching his waist, where they fisted hold of his wizarding robes and flesh as though he was about to be torn from her side once again.

She was leaning heavily against him, her face nestled tightly against his throat.

Those were not the actions of a woman who hated the man who was holding her.

"You left me." Angelina cried, the dam on her emotions' breaking and forcing her to confront them. "You left me and I needed you. I needed you so much Alex, and you weren't there. You weren't there. You forced me to take Josh and the portkey and I had no idea if you were dead or alive!"

"I know." He whispered soothingly. "I'm sorry." Montague apologized, so quietly that the two words were almost inaudible.

"I didn't know if you were alive, or dead. If you were safe. I didn't know anything."

The torment in her voice had him swallowing hard. Montague forced down the lump in his throat, made himself to listen to Angelina, to allow her to get everything out.

This day was the first day of the rest of their life together, and he needed to start as he meant to go on. And that meant getting everything out in the open and dealt with.

Angelina's agonizing words continued, each one of them hitting his soul the same way every Unforgivable curse had once struck his body.

"And then you didn't come. We got word that the Dark Lord had been defeated, but you didn't come back to me. And I waited. But you still didn't come. And I didn't know why." The words were muffled against the fabric of his robes, but the volume of the words didn't lessen the impact of their blow. "I hated you so much for not being here. I hate you!"

"You love me." He told her, surprising even himself that his voice was strong, steady, and confident. Closing his eyes to drink in the moment he tucked Angelina's head beneath his chin and smoothed a hand down over her hair. "You love me," he repeated struggling to get the tone of his voice right. If he wasn't confident enough it would sound like even he didn't believe what he was saying which meant Angelina definitely wouldn't. If he sounded too sure it would come across as cocky and she'd fight him for that reason alone. The time for fighting with Angelina was over. It was time for their new life to begin, one of peace, tranquility, babies and the odd occasions where he'd irritate her solely to watch her eyes flash at him. "If you didn't love me, you wouldn't be fighting so hard to make yourself believe you hate me." He explained easily. "You can lie to yourself if you want my Dark Angel, but you can't lie to me. You wouldn't be so angry at me for not returning to you as soon as the war was over if you didn't care for me."

Silence stretched between them, but it was no longer crammed full of unspoken words, or hate and anger.

"I am alive and well. I am with you now and I come bearing good news." Montague told Angelina carefully.

Lifting her head from Alex's chest, Angelina stared up at him, here eyes still damp with tears and full of questions.

"Nott arrived at your fathers house before many members of the Order got there. He managed to save Kat's life and has been keeping her safe while you have been staying with my cousins. I would have told you sooner, but the threat of doing so was to high."

"Kat's alive?"

"Yes," Montague smiled. "And married to Nott of all things! They are busy trying for their first child."

Angelina's heart missed a beat in apprehension, trying to make sense of the new revelation. Kat was muggle. And a little spitfire at that, she wouldn't bend to the will of a man without there being more to it. "She loves him? Truly?"

"You'll see for yourself soon enough. They will be here tomorrow. I believe Nott intends to ask Luca if he will permit them to have a blessing on the premises since there were no friends and family in attendance for the wedding itself."

"Really?"

Montague nodded reassuringly as he smoothed a hand down over Angelina's head. "Really. I don't want there to be any more lies between us. We've got the rest of our lives ahead of us, and I want to start as we mean to go on."

Angelina stared at him quietly for a moment, her brain racing with everything she'd learnt about him.

Taking a deep breath, Montague gripped her face. "It'll be different now. You know everything there is to know, I won't have to hide anything from you. We can be a family. You, me, and Josh. Kat and Nott visiting back and forth. Angel, I swear to you, I will make you happy."

The words were everything she wanted to hear. She'd been lost without Alex in the past few months, adrift at sea without an anchor.

"You promise me, that everything you've said today is true? That there will be no more lies, or omissions, or secrets that you'll keep from me? You promise?"

Smiling Montague bent his head and pressed a hard kiss to her lips, wrapping his arms about her body and pulling her against him. His lips brushed the shell of her eyes in a whisper light caress. Then Montague did what he was born to do.

He lied. "I promise."

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**The end**.

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A/N: Hope it lived up to your expectations, if you have any questions, don't hesitate to ask and I will answer them for you! Once again, thank you for all your support and feedback, Lils x


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